Look for the Good Instead
by Purple Fuzzi Wumps
Summary: Harry is the BWL and his twin, Chaz, really doesn't mind not being in the spotlight himself. But Harry changed. While Harry tries subtlety in a new universe, he can't hide himself forever, especially from a family he never knew. ABANDONED
1. Prologue

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Prologue**

**"Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no other aim than the one he sets himself, with no other destiny than the one he forges for himself on this earth."**

**Jean-Paul Sartre**

.Charlus Potter.

My name is Charlus Markus Potter, and this is my story. It starts when I was eleven, and on my way to start Hogwarts. The day was clear and blue, just like every incoming Hogwarts student hopes their big day will be. Of course, it had to be sunny. After all, this was the day my brother was starting at Hogwarts too.

Harry Potter, my brother, the boy who lived. Everyone would think I would hate him, that I would revile him, envy him. They would assume that I'm jealous that he's famous for something he doesn't remember, but they're wrong. Harry and I are twins, and as close as possible, really. Mum and Dad, or Lily and James Potter to you, have always paid more attention to him, I'll admit, but they never ignored me. They didn't just give me Harry's hand-me-down robes after all! No, we were treated wonderfully by our parents.

I'll admit that Harry could be a bit big headed though. But it was understandable! He'd grown up as The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World! He's bound to be just a touch arrogant. Mum told me that Dad was worse when he went to Hogwarts though, so I'll not hold it against him. After all, he's my brother.

"Harry, Chaz, behave yourselves, alright?" Lily leaned down and gave us kisses on the cheek. Harry first, then me. As soon as Mum left Harry for me, Dad swooped down to give my brother a hug, tousling his already messy hair as he let go. I was next, though without the tousle.

I smiled at them both, returning the affections. Mum's dazzling green eyes beamed down at us both, and a warm feeling in my stomach spread to my fingers and toes. She always said we were so much like each other, both quiet, auburn-haired, and studious. My hair was a neat, dark red; it was, nearly the black that constituted the hair of both my father and brother, but it was still red. I also had Mum's eyes, but with a ring of brown and yellow around the pupil. Harry always said that I have "weird" eyes, but I rather liked them.

"If you do decide not to behave though..." a smirk lit James' face. "Don't get caught, or I'll have to send Padfoot up there to make sure you don't get in anymore trouble." Harry and I giggled. We did, admittedly, play pranks. Harry would take care of the ideas, I made them work. Harry didn't like to read, and he didn't need to. He was, after all, going to be an Auror, whether his grades permitted or not. It didn't matter.

"I love you, Mum, Dad," Harry and I said in unison. We had practiced that morning, just for fun.

"I'll send Aris' over with my letter as soon as we get to the Gryffindor dorms, okay?" I piped happily. Aris', or Aristotle, was my owl, a rather barmy looking barn, but he was nice. He had a nasty habit of dropping dead rodents on my breakfast, but he was nice.

"And I'll send Hedwig tomorrow after our first classes," Harry released a small smirk. "I hope we have Aunt Minerva and Uncle Filius first. Or at least D.A.D.A! That'll be so cool! I'm sure I'll be the best in class."

"I'm sure you will be. You've been practicing ever since you got your wand," James tousled Harry's hair again. "Best get going though, you don't want to end up sitting with any slimy Slytherins on the train."

Dad helped Harry with his trunk, and I trailed behind them. The train was getting a bit packed, but Harry managed to find the compartment of some of his friends. Ron Weasley, a red-haired prankster with blue eyes and more than his share of freckles, was sitting with the fair toned Ernie McMillan and dark Terry Boot. Harry took the last seat in their compartment, and I continued dragging my trunk down the hall. Dad left, I suppose he forgot I wasn't sitting with Harry, but I eventually found an empty compartment. A quick levitation charm later, and I was relaxing in the empty cabin with a muggle fantasy novel.

"Excuse me, I can't seem to find my toad," A dark haired boy popped his head in. This was my best friend, Neville Longbottom. He's also one of the bravest people I've ever met. I suppose having your parents die to save the life of a now famous family will give you a bit of pride. It was because of his parents that mine weren't dead. "Oh! Hi Charlie. Have you seen Trevor around?"

"Sorry Neville, I haven't," I set down my book with a shrug. "I can ask the cabin next door to summon him for you though. It's full of Ravenclaws from higher years. Sit down and have a frog, you're a bit panicky mate." It was true, he was looking a bit twitchy.

In the next compartment over, I did manage to get Neville's toad... after a good long lecture on responsibility, knowing things ahead, and why Ravenclaw was the best of all houses. Recruiters.

"Here you go mate," I sighed, handing the troublesome toad to Neville. "Maybe you should just get a tracking spell on him or something; then you couldn't ever really lose him." Trevor ribitted his agreement, then squirmed from Neville's grasp, resting in the corner furthest from his master. "There, see? Even Trevor agrees with me."

Neville just chuckled. "I'm going to go back to my compartment for a bit, make sure no one did anything to my things. I'll be back in a few."

The rest of my train ride was rather normal, I suppose. While Neville was gone, a bushy haired girl with buck teeth by the name Hermione Granger came in, claiming to be helping to look for Trevor, and was ecstatic to have found him. My best mate did return with his trunk, but right on his tail was a blonde haired boy with two rocks for goons. After finding out that I was Harry Potter's brother, he offered to let me hang out with him, however when I asked if my friends could as well (as Hermione hadn't left yet), Malfoy left, muttering about muggle lovers. By the end of the train ride, I was friends with Hermione, who was asking question after question about the magical world.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!" Came the loud bellow of Hogwarts' own half giant. He said hello to anyone he knew well, and waved jauntily at the crowd in general. "Alrigh', four to a boat, no more than tha' though! And watch out that you don' fall in the lake. It's a bit chilly this time o' day." Neville, Hermione and I piled into the boat together, as did another girl, but she didn't talk any to us. We didn't care, Neville and I were explaining about floo travel and apparition to Hermione, so we were all distracted.

The boats rounded the bend, and Hogwarts came into view. All talking stopped, and everyone just stared up in awe at the magnificent castle on the cliff, practically glittering with magic. Hushed whispers soon ensued, growing to a murmur, than a lot of overly excited kids ready to explode. It was a rather lot of fun really.

Upon landing, we were led under the cliff to a hidden doorway, which opened at our arrival to reveal a strict looking witch with her hair in a bun. Aunt Minerva, although at school she's Professor McGonagall. When Dad was working on his Transfiguration Mastery, he became very good friends with Aunt Minerva. The same happened with Mum when she was getting her Charms Mastery, she became good friends with Uncle Filius, known to most as Professor Flitwick.

We were lead up the way to a room just off the Great Hall. Dad said that we should be careful, because upper years sometimes set up a prank, but we didn't have to worry. They wouldn't _dare_ prank my brother before he's sorted, so we only had to deal with a ghost congregation floating through. It was funny, but rather boring.

The great hall was magnificent. Hermione started talking about the ceiling and how it was enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw because of certain Arithmatic equations or something. It was very interesting, but she did have to quiet down when a raggedy old hat was brought out. Over where Harry was, I heard Ron mutter something about trolls, but I just laughed at that. Mum and dad said it was easy to be sorted, but no one who hasn't been sorted was allowed to know how it was done.

The hat started to sing, amazingly enough. I don't really remember the words, but it was about the merits of each house and their founders, and then it basically told us not to worry. It was a good way to start the year.

"Boot, Terry!"

"Ravenclaw!"

Terry went to his new table with a smile on his face. One of Harry's friends down.

"Granger, Hermione!"

"Ravenclaw!"

So far the first two friends of the family were in the house for all those witty, wily Ravenclaws.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

"Gryffindor!"

My hands clapped fast for my best mate as I watched him join the best house in the school.

"McMillan, Ernie!"

"Hufflepuff!"

My turn was coming fast. In the back of my mind I realized I was before Harry, just once. A small sense of pride.

"Potter, Charlus!"

I practically skipped up to the stool and jammed the hat on my head. It began speaking almost immediately.

"_Ah, a Potter! Yes, your ancestry speaks for itself..."_

_I should hope so,_ I thought happily. The hat already knew that I was perfect for Gryffindor!

"_Yes, only one house for you, young Charlus," _The hat seemed to breathe in a breath of air as the "mouth" on the outside (for the tiny one on the inside didn't proclaim houses after all).

_Only one, of course! I mean, look at my family,_ I was happy, waiting to vault off of my stool and join the Gryffindors.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was slowly pulled from my head at this point. My face was cold as I felt the blood drain away from it. My legs were on auto pilot as they lead me to the polite smattering of claps at the Slytherin table. My feet gave way at the end of the bench and my face slammed against the table with a forlorn **thunk**. I didn't even hear my brother and Ron get sorted into Gryffindor, but I knew they had. I was a _disgrace_ to the Potter name! How could I not be in Gryffindor? The only Potter who hadn't been in Gryffindor for the past century was Dorea Potter, my grandmother, but she had been a Black at the time! And still not a Slytherin!

That night I spent all of dinner smacking my head on the table. **Thunk**.** Thunk**.** Thunk**.

* * *

The common room, I found, was completely unpleasant. Too much green! At the time, I admitted it hurt it eyes less than the brilliant gleaming colors of Gryffindor, but it was _green! _And _silver!_ Slytherin colors, the colors of the worst house in the history of wizarding. I didn't _want_ to be a dark wizard! Still, I was in Slytherin... I just wouldn't socialize with them. I would stick with Neville and Hermione, and I would be ignored the Slytherins... hopefully. 

That night, I discovered I was actually a bit of a cry baby. I cried myself to sleep. It took about two hours. It's been weeks since then too. Harry avoids me, and I hide out in a boys' room so no one can see me cry. It's the boys' room equivalent of Moaning Myrtle's room, so no one ever comes in. Neville and Hermione still hang out with me, and a girl named Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff started hanging out with them (not me... yet) after Hermione helped her in Potions, and Neville helped to subdue a plant in Herbology to keep her alive. They're all mates, but Hannah is still afraid of me.

Two months have passed, and I don't commune with my own house mates. I can't really. They're Slytherin. A couple aren't as Slytherin as I expected (Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini are alright), and I group with them, mostly because they never try to set fire to me with sparks from their wands.

Harry made the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Seeker, just like he said he would. Youngest Seeker in a century. Dad was proud. It was like Harry was his only son. Of course, after the howler he sent ("How could you have gotten into the slimy snake house?! No Potter has been in Slytherin for generations! I thought your mother and I raised you better than that..."), it came as no surprise to me. If I were to make the team, he'd buy me a second rate broom now, because of the filthy house I was in. Now, there was the blatant favoritism, and even a bit of the resentment that others would expect. But I did nothing. I just hid in the bathroom on the seventh floor and cried.

Halloween was tonight. The anniversary of Harry getting his scar, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named disappearing (Mum and Dad told us he might not really be gone), and after a disastrous transfiguration lesson, I decided to just skip the feast and hide in my bathroom. I stomped through the halls and heard Harry talking to Ron.

"Why does that stupid Ravenclaw keep bothering us anyway?" Ron complained. "It's no wonder she hasn't got any real friends, I mean, those guys who act like her friends just want her homework help-"

"Shut up!" I didn't know what I was doing really. I knew who they were talking about after all. Hermione told me how she wanted to make more friends, and only having Neville to talk to in Charms, how she was trying to become friends with Ron as well. "Don't talk about Hermione that way!"

Harry and Ron did stop, as if just noticing I was in the corridor. Harry quirked his brow, and gave me a calculating look. Since when could he lift just one brow? He spent a lot of time practicing, but he could never do it. Until now anyway.

"What do you care, Slytherin?"

Those words... they came from Harry. My own brother, my _twin brother_ said that. I was... numb. My eyes stung, they were too hot, and I turned, running away, to the other stairs that led to my bathroom. I spent the evening crying. Hermione had followed me, trying to get me to come out. It didn't work.

The bell to signify everyone was to go back to their dorms sounded through the castle, loud, low, and almost ominous. I stood and left the stall I was crying in, wiping my eyes with toilet paper. My hand was on the knob, and as I turned it, a loud _thud_ sounded, shaking rubble from the ceiling. Again, and again, and the fourth time, whatever it was seemed to have hit its mark as the heavy door exploded inward.

I felt something strike my head and blacked out, hearing a single call of a spell I didn't recognize. If I had realized how right Ron's words about first years fighting trolls had been, I wouldn't be in this predicament, but either way, just two months into my Hogwarts career, I was attacked by a troll that had, somehow, found its way all the way up to the seventh floor bathroom, and it bashed my skull in because I couldn't get away from a door soon enough. Sad, right? I thought so.

* * *

Author's note: Okay, that's the prologue I guess. I hope it was good, but whatever. Odd chapters will be in the perspective of someone other than Chaz, and evens will be in Chaz's POV. Most often Non-Chaz will be Harry and Hermione. I will always label the POV before the section starts. If you have anything to critique (whether rudely or no) please do so. I can't improve my writing if people are just like "great chapter" or "you suck". It doesn't do anything but give me a head the size of Prongs' (or, in the case of this story, Harry) or make me emo (as in Harry of the canon series). 

Also, if you could suggest any good time travel/dimensional travel stories that are Harry Potter or Naruto, I will love you forever. For some reason I like "Harry is Salazar" stories as well. Harry raises Voldemort stories are good too (although none can measure up to DobbyElfLord's **Altered Destinies**). Harry raises himself are alright I suppose, and certain "Harry, brother of the BWL". If they are in my favorites or C2, I've read it though (trust me, I'm on here a lot...). Also, for some reason only Merlin knows, I've come to like the Sirius/Harry ship. I don't know why, and it kind of scares me, but I have started to like reading about the HMS Sirry (or would it be Harius?). If you know any good ones, please inform me. Thanks.

Okay, so... I dunno if I was being original with this. I've just never read a story where the main character really is the sibling of the BWL (except "Harry's mary-sue twin sis/bro" clichés) where the BWL really is the BWL, not some attention seeking prat of a sibling who was mistakenly declared the savior. Those are always full of neglect.

And no, Charlus will not be neglected. His dad is in shock, and our dear main character hasn't read any of his mum's letters in case she's pissed too (she isn't, she _is_ Lily after all!). Harry just isn't sure how to deal with having his brother (whom he always treated as just that) being in Slytherin... okay, no, I'm lying. But you'll find out the truth next chapter :) Charlus has always been, and always will be, well cared for. I really hate it when their like "oh, the BWL's brother doesn't get anything nice even though his family is filthy stinking rich". Screw that. Lily and James were good people, and they won't disown their kid just because the other one is famous, or even if he's a Slytherin. Seriously people! Have you not _read_ the books? Know you nothing of these people?

End of rant: In conclusion, people have no grasp of the Lily and James characters when they write those stories, and I am proud to say I still have a brain. Thank you. Just because there is favoritism, doesn't mean it's a huge thing. The worst of it really is the aforementioned howler, which James feels very guilty about, just so you know. He just doesn't know how to apologize.

This story will not be slow. Seriously, Book one ends on chapter 5, Two on eleven, and so on. It's quick, I would like to think in depth, and hopefully not with too many notes this big O.O'


	2. The Other Side

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 1**

**The Other Side**

**"Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, for jealousy dislikes the world to know it."**

**Lord Byron**

.Hermione Granger.

Charms on Halloween was exciting. We finally got to use the levitation charm, after weeks of theory! I got it on my first try, but when I tried to help Ron Weasley, he just got angry. I had turned back to my own feather with Neville of course after that. He had advised against trying to befriend Ron, but it was worth a shot. Not that he was any nicer than Terry Boot (very stuck up because his friend was the Boy Who Lived), but at least he didn't go bragging about that.

I just wanted to have more friends, really. I mean, I've been friends with Neville and Chaz since the sorting feast, and I became friends with Hannah in Potions, but I wanted a few more. No one in Ravenclaw, as I found most of them were stuck up, but it was still disappointing that no one outside the three I already had wanted to be my friend.

Class ended with Seamus Finnagan setting fire to the desk he shared with Dean Thomas. The class had to evacuate so Flitwick could get the flames under control. Dinner would be in a little bit, as it was Halloween. Seamus would claim it a Halloween prank, but I heard him pronouncing that spell wrong! Just like wizard Baruffio really.

On the way down the corridor, I caught sight of Charlus, walking with a purpose I knew all too well by this time. He was heading to his hidey hole on the seventh floor. I was about to call him out, try and get him out of his funk, when Ron, who was walking about three paces in front of me in the general direction of my auburn haired compatriot.

"Why does that stupid Ravenclaw keep bothering us anyway?" Ron complained. He was talking about me, I knew. Oh gods, he was talking about me! My eyes brimmed with small tears. Maybe Chaz had the right idea, hiding in a bathroom most of the time. "It's no wonder she hasn't got any real friends, I mean, those guys who act like her friends just want her homework help-"

"Shut up!" My head flew up. I hadn't even realized it was down, but I looked up and saw Chaz glaring at Ron. A calmness came over me as everyone in the hall halted and Chaz strode up closer. I heard Neville's slow gait catch up to me as well. "Don't talk about Hermione that way!"

"What do you care, Slytherin?" Harry said this. _Harry Potter_ said that to his own twin brother. Every whisper that had started a moment past now stopped. My book bag wasn't the only one to clatter to floor without a care.

Charlus was running already, and I walked up to Harry, a serious bone to pick. Neville beat me to it.

"You go help Charlie, 'Mione," Neville sighed. "I'll take care of this." I nodded and ran after Charlus. As I turned the corner I heard Neville start to lay into the Boy Who Lived. "You're own brother Harry! What in the name of Merlin's big toe were you..."

It took me ten minutes to reach Chaz's bathroom. I heard him crying, but I couldn't do anything. He'd locked his stall, and bathroom stalls were distinctly "Alohamora" proof. I spent twenty minutes talking to him before he sent sparks under the door to scare me off. I took the hint and left. But Merlin... I regretted it.

The reason for said regret was made quickly evident. In the middle of dinner, Professor Quirrell stormed in, screaming about a troll. I knew Chaz had never come down to dinner. He wouldn't know! And when he had to go back to his common room, what if the teachers hadn't caught it by then? I was panicking of course, and left the Hall behind a group of Gryffindors in the upper years. We diverged soon enough, but hardly before I bumped into someone else.

Harry Potter. Again.

"What are you doing here Hermione?" He seemed generally concerned. "Your common room is on the other side of the castle." He glanced nervously about, as if expecting the troll to appear from thin air and attack him.

"Wouldn't you like to know," I growled. I moved to the right, but he blocked me. Left, blocked. I feinted right, then left again, and still he blocked me. "Out of my way Potter! In case you didn't know, it's your fault that Chaz doesn't know about that stupid troll, and I'm not about to let my friend get killed on his way to his common room! Now _move!_"

I was almost shocked to find my wand in my hand. It had become reflexive almost, somehow, but I did have it, and it was pointed at him. He didn't move, but drew his own wand, keeping it down.

"Hermione, you should just get back to your common room," He said sternly. Like he had any authority over me! He was two inches shorter, and didn't know half the spells I did because he never opened a book! I glowered and slapped him. In his shock at being hit (he was obviously quite coddled), I got past and continued running to the steps that would lead me back to Charlus bathroom.

"Chaz! Are you there?" I shouted as I wandered the hall. A horrid stench had been accosting my nose since I reached the seventh floor, but I attributed it to Peeves' Halloween prank. He'd blown dung bombs off in random parts of the castle, and as there weren't any classes up there, no one would have bothered to tell Filch, as they wouldn't have known.

It should have struck me that I hadn't smelt this when I was trying to get Chaz to come out before, but I was distraught. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I hadn't even the slightest inkling until the crash. It was loud, and a small bit of rubble fell to the floor down the hall. It hit again, and I found I was heading in the direction of the disturbance. The third slam was louder, and hardly ten seconds passed before I had turned the corner and saw what could only be the troll smashing the door of Chaz's bathroom in. I heard Charlus' scream, and fainted.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

Days turned into weeks. Everything seemed so knew, and yet like it was old hap. I don't know, I felt overwhelmed. I held back in classes, hoping that Hermione would offer help, tips I already knew, just so we could talk. Instead, she pursed her lips, said something in general relation to what the entire class was doing wrong, and would turn her gaze back to Neville. Sometimes, she would seem to appear out of thin air and tell me and Ron how to do things properly, but Ron would always scowl and tell her to go away.

And she would. Hermione in Ravenclaw was a new experience. She really had the Gryffindor spirit, and yet she was in Ravenclaw, associating with the oddest people. Neville for one. Sure, later in life he would be great, but eleven year old Neville was skittish, shy, and all together uncoordinated. Hannah Abbott for another. The girl was always alone and liked it, and yet she would socialize with Hermione and Neville exclusively.

Last, oddly, was a Slytherin boy with dark red hair. I didn't remember him. I was sure he hadn't been in my year, and yet there he was. He never raised his hand in class, but amiable seeming enough when around Neville or Hermione. Why was that boy friends with my best friend? It didn't make sense.

Then, on the ominous Halloween, Ron made his expected remark about Hermione. I had been about to tell him off, because, really, Hermione was great. She just hated the idea of seeing anyone fail academically, especially at the easy stuff, but someone else's cry cut me off. The Slytherin.

"Shut up!" My eyes snapped to him. There were similarities, our eyes. Both green, and we had the same body type, height and all, though he looked more how I had when I originally started, after the Dursley's, like he rarely ate anything. Miserable and thin. The only real difference in appearance was our hair color, and the small brown ring around his pupils. An idolizer, like Colin Creevey. "Don't talk about Hermione that way!"

I fixed a stare on him, taking him in. I perked my left brow, bringing it higher than the right. "What do you care Slytherin?" A thud, and the sound of books tumbling from a bag onto the floor. I turned to the sound, seeing Hermione with very narrow eyes, and her face red hot. She moved forward, a definitely hostile look on her face, but Neville, touched her arm.

"You go help Charlie, 'Mione," Neville shook his head, then glared at me. "I'll take care of this." Hermione nodded, and ran down the hall, her books scattered on the floor with ink left to seep all over them.

I was taking out my wand to clean it up. No one liked it when their books got saturated with ink, least ways Hermione. Maybe cleaning up her things would open the way for the resurrection of the Golden Trio. Or, rather, just the creation of it. It was odd thinking of how different things had been since three weeks ago, when I appeared in the body of my younger self. I had family here, my parents were alive. The letter from my parents that morning had proved it.

"You're own brother Harry! What in the name of Merlin's big toe were you thinking?!" Neville's outburst snapped me from my reverie. I was shocked. A brother? I have a brother? "Charlie has enough to deal with, since that howler your dad sent him, and now you go and do this?! What are you trying to pull?!"

It didn't seem right. No way I would have a brother in Slytherin. We would have to be twins, near to identical (admittedly we looked quite alike), for that to be real. But I didn't have a twin. I was an only child, and his parents would at least have asked me to pass a message along to a brother, if not a letter.

"I think you're mistaken Neville," I murmured. "There's no way in hell that I have a brother in Slytherin."

The hall, still full of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first years, burst into whispers. "Gotcha. I guess people were always right then. I never wanted to believe it, since you're Charlie's brother, but it's true. The fame really has got to your head."

Neville left with that last biting comment. I was left, dumbfounded, with an uneasy looking Ron.

"Mate... I think he's got a point," Ron murmured, "you have been kinda hard in Chaz lately. Let's get to dinner though. You can make up with them later." At that point he started dragging the still shocked me away from the whispering masses and to a short cut I hadn't found until fourth year that I showed Ron yesterday.

_I... have a brother? And I'm a total stuck up prick. Oh hell no..._ I groaned mentally. I'd been in la-la land for three weeks now, and already the drama was unfolding like some poorly written soap of Aunt Petunia's. Great. _I feel distinctly like this is how Malfoy would have treated a brother if he had one. As if they weren't related. Spiffy._

Not that I allowed my emotions to show. Three years of being a master Occlumens had left me the ability to don a mask of whatever emotion I wished. Thus, I showed a slightly ashamed face, with a hint of anger. Being twenty three in that little body was kind of annoying, but I lived. More annoying was that I have disappeared as Ginny was giving birth, and Teddy was bound to be confused.

_I can imagine it now,_ I sighed mentally as Ron dragged me to the Great Hall. _"I'm sorry Mrs. Potter, but your husband seems to have been whisked off to another dimension where his parents are alive. Oh, and Teddy, it seems your parents are alive there too. I'm sorry you'll never see him again most likely, but it can't be helped." Merlin, I don't even know if this me took my place there... what a mess._

I suppressed these thoughts soon though. They could wait until Christmas break. Instead I focused on dinner with every other male Gryffindor. One hour later, before desserts were going to crop up, Quirrell ran in, screaming about the troll. I didn't have to worry though. Hermione was back, she had appeared next to Neville (apparently she was allowed to sit with him after asking McGonagall), so no heroism this Halloween.

Until...

"Harry, Chaz never came down to dinner," Ron whispered. "What do you think happened? I mean, he was upset... Merlin only knows where he goes when he gets in those moods... well, him and Hermione."

"Speak of the..." I dropped the sentence. Hermione was whisking up a flight of stairs, seeming to head to the eastern wing of the castle. "Ron, get to the common room, and if Percy asks, tell him I had to go to the toilet."

Before he could protest, I was running up the steps to the elevator-like short cut that would allow me to intercept Hermione. It was added by Dumbledore after the Marauders left school, and I always thanked him for it when I was a professor. It made it so much easier to head off danger. Of course, by heading off Hermione, she crashed right into me on the sixth floor.

I hadn't really meant to do that. I wanted to follow her far enough to get a good idea of where she was headed, and thus where my supposed brother was, and accidentally sent the elevator right in her path. Scratch plan A. Onto Plan B... Improvisation.

"What are you doing here Hermione?" I asked in seeming confusion. I gave her a worried look that, hopefully, would incline her to leave it to me. It usually worked for Dumbledore, before he died. "Your common room is on the other side of the castle."

"Wouldn't you like to know," Hermione growled suddenly. I didn't even know she _could_growl at this age! Rather intimidating. I moved to the left, blocking her escape. Right, blocking. I matched her every move even as she tried to pull a double feint on me. "Out of my way Potter! In case you didn't know, it's your fault that Chaz doesn't know about that stupid troll, and I'm not about to let my friend get killed on his way to his common room! Now _move!_"

Her hand was up, wand pointed at me. I was surprised, but slowly drew my own as well not aiming it. Did Hermione know anything offensive by this time? Aside from her bluebell flames there shouldn't be anything, but then, she hung out with a Slytherin. Who knew what had happened?

"Hermione, you should just get back to your common room," I said in as stern and teacher-like a voice as I could summon as an eleven year old. Not terribly impressive, it would have gotten a giggle from any of my students in the future, but Hermione usually responded to that sort of thing. Well, his Hermione. This Hermione though...

My head spun to the left as her open palmed slap struck. Hard. It was then I knew why Malfoy had been so edgy on her at the end of third year. She could slap _hard_. While I was still rubbing the pain away, she had run off towards the stairs to the seventh floor. I pursued, but as I hit the stairs a horrid stench hit my nose.

"Bloody hell!" I growled and started pelting through the corridors.

**Thud.** The sound of a club striking stone. Hermione paused before me. **Thud. Thud.** Hermione was running flat out and I kept up the chase. She quit at the corner and loud crack and scream meant that the troll had found someone. Hermione had fainted. Oh hell.

"Stupefy! Impedimenta!" I shouted quickly. They bounced off. Someone (also known as Quirrell) had placed a shield to reflect that sort of thing. The troll diverted its attention from its prey (mostly likely my "brother") and gave an angry grunt. It raised its club, and I suddenly found myself pulling a Ron. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

**Thud.**

And that was the end of the troll. However, it was not the end of everything, as was signified by the sudden arrival of several shocked teachers. My face paled. I had no excuse for taking the troll on myself this time.

_Damn..._

* * *

Author's Note: Point 1: Hermione doesn't like arrogance, and I can imagine most Ravenclaws being arrogant about their knowledge, where as she is just a teacher's pet. She's eager, likes to learn, and wants to be recognized for what she knows, but not to the point where she has a big head. After all the praise from Harry and Ron over the year's in canon, she still kept a level head, so I think this testifies for her on that front. 

Point 2: This Hermione sees a troll attacking where her friend is, and panics. The panic causes her pulse to rise, she forgets to breathe, and presto change-o! Hermione has fainted. In canon, she had friends with her soon enough that she wouldn't have passed out, and she wasn't scared for anyone else. Also, in canon-land, she was a Gryffy, and embracing that side more than her Raven-ness. Honestly, it all makes sense... to me.

Point the 3rd: Yes, this is Harry from canon, just when Ginny was in labor with James. How special. Heheh. I won't detail whether or not the Harry of this universe is there instead, I'm still debating, and it might never come up (i.e.: if he never actually returns to his universe, whatever). That one point is where the universes diverge. In this universe it's when Lily becomes pregnant because there's two kids (fraternal, but very similar in appearance) instead of just Harry, but things are going to be similar at times, and different at others (like how the troll was five floors higher than in canon, Arthur Weasley is in charge of all illegally bewitched items, not just illegally bewitched muggle items (and thus has a higher salary), Harry actually gets his fan mail, etc.

Um... any more points? I dunno. Reviews are cool, they will help me improve. If you flame, tell me what is wrong, not just "you suck" because I can't stop sucking if I don't know what's wrong. Seriously.

Also, if there are any Brit-pickers out there, any hints you'd be willing to give? I'm bringing up my Brit abilities at the mo' by reading the UK editions, but it would still be helpful : )

Anyway, Happy Halloween! It's about 4 pm PST that I'm posting this on October 31st, so that's 7pm EST, midnight November the first in Britain, etc etc. I'm off to go trick-or-treating now. Bye! (maybe I'll put a link to the picture of my costume tomorrow, when I'm not busy inventing something really quick for History class... '


	3. Sticks and Stones

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 2**

**Sticks and Stones**

**"A broken bone can heal, but the wound a word opens can fester forever."**

**Jessamyn West**

.Charlus Potter.

There was no moment of grogginess, no period of being unable to wake, unsure if I was me and hearing somehow familiar voices. No, instead, there was a rather lot of darkness, void, and suddenly everything was moving again, as if a muggle movie had been put on "Stop" and then "Play". From silence to the sounds of my parents arguing with Madame Pomfrey, the matron of the Hospital Wing, about if I should be taken to St. Mungo's because of the troll attack.

"You needn't worry Lily! He'll be waking up soon anyway. Everything is healed after all, it isn't like he's in a _coma_," She sounded exasperated. Of course, if Mum really was panicked about this, then it would make sense... and I was awake after all. Mum – again, Lily to you – gets in a right state whenever Harry and I get so much as a scratch.

"I am here you know," I murmured, opening my eyes a crack, and then snapping them shut. It was bright in the Hospital Wing.

"Chaz!" And at that moment, I received my first sick-bed glomp. Mum was hugging me and shaking me, and weeping, and giving my brain a good rattling. "Oh I'm so glad you're okay! How could you have been so stupid? Oh, I'm so glad –" etc. etc.

"I'm fine Mum!" I struggled out of her grasp. "Or I was until you strangled me. Merlin, that smarts..." I rubbed my temples as I became accustomed to the amount of white and light in the room.

"Charlie," My dad. While Mum goes for Chaz, as it sounds a lot like a muggle nickname, Dad goes for the traditional Charlie. Quite honestly, I don't really care which they use, but my dad... well, the tone he was using? Let's just say it spelled Trouble. Yes, that _is_ with a capital T. "Harry told us what happened."

To say I was surprised would be the understatement of the century. After insulting me, leading to near death-by-Troll, Harry actually took the blame? I mean, yeah, it was the right thing to do, but Harry _never_ turned himself in.

"I hope you know you almost got suspended for that stunt," Mum was suddenly rather angry.

"_Stunt_? What stunt? I didn't do anything!" Okay, so indignant rage isn't something I'm very good at, but I had a good idea about what happened now. Harry blamed everything on me. As usual. Upon reflection, maybe my initial comments on how there was "no favoritism" in our family isn't quite right. They always believed Harry over me. Always. And Harry used that to his advantage whenever we pranked together. It also allowed him to perfect his "I'm so innocent!" look that all trouble makers coveted.

"Don't you try and pull that one," Dad grumped. "Harry told us how you decided to try to take on that troll to get our attention. I realize we haven't been fair to you, but you put Harry and a muggleborn girl in danger! What were you thinking?! You're eleven years old Charlus, most adults can't even take on a troll. You're_lucky_ that Harry showed up when he did."

I stopped thinking, I think. I don't really know. I just sort of blanked out. One moment I was sitting in my hospital bed, gaping, and the next I was standing, face right up close to my dad's (oh Merlin, that must have looked odd), and he looked _pissed_.

One hour later, I was released to the Slytherin common room, plotting my brother's downfall.

* * *

"I hate my brother," I growled as I sat next to Hermione for Herbology. This had been the medium for conversation for the past two weeks. Today was Friday, and the first Quidditch match of the school season would be the next day. I was rooting for Slytherin, officially. No unofficial house allegiances. If my brother was going to be a lying prat, then I had every right to loathe him. Surprisingly, Hermione and Neville backed me up. They knew the entire incident was his fault, as they'd heard the instigating comment coming from my so-called sibling's mouth. 

I've been spending twice as much time in my bathroom now. Instead of mooning after my own brother's attention, I've been ignoring him quite pointedly. He even had the gall to try and sit with me in Potions earlier that morning. My little display of anger, loathing, and pointedly moving as far from him, right on the split to be by Neville, might have actually made Snape confused. I don't really know. I saw this look in his eyes... it was different from the usual "glare and hate" thing. Made me feel special.

"Yes, Chaz, I get it," Hermione sighed. Okay, she understood my righteous indignation. She was just getting annoyed with my adamancy regarding the general situation. 'Course, my over all attitude wasn't terribly encouraging anyway... but still. "Just sit down and shush, we do have to pay attention in class you know."

"Yes ma'am..." I mumbled. Work went quickly, and before I knew it, classes for the day were out, leaving me with an afternoon of moping. Aside from eating (which I did sparingly), sleeping (I had dreams troubled by images of exploding doors and impending squishes via troll, so that wasn't too frequent either), doing homework (Hermione would kill me if I didn't), and attend classes (again, Hermione), I did little but mope. Sure, I would plot the demise of my brother (also known as vengeance for getting me suspended for the previous week), but mostly I mope. Brood. Sit on a toilet and weep. Specific enough? Good.

Right, so, like I said, I was sitting on my toilet, pouting, not to the part where I mope, just sort of brooding and glaring at the universe, and there was a knock on my stall door. A visitor in the only boys' room in the school that no one goes to. Because, really, I was no one. At all.

"Charlus? You there?" My brother. LOATHING. Yes, that's why I wanted to curl up and die in a corner of despair. It wasn't because I was afraid, ashamed... nope, none of those. Just spiteful. Nothing else of course, after all, it wasn't like I was ashamed my hidey hole had been compromised, or anything like that. Not a chance.

"Go away," I growled. Very menacing if I do say so myself. I'd been practicing. A scowl all day keeps the prats away after all. It works for Snape and Malfoy anyway.

"Oh come on! It's not like I did anything wrong!" Harry protested. He sounded angry actually, as if _I_ was being the childish one! He was the one to insult me! It was all his fault!

I slid the lock open and shoved the door, scowling for all I was worth. "Nothing wrong?! First you ignore me all October, acting like we aren't related, then you go off and insult me because I was defending Hermione from your stupid friend's insults, and you think you didn't do anything?! What the hell Harry!" It felt rather good to yell at Harry. Maybe I should take my anger out on him more often. "You're the reason I could have been killed by a troll! And you blamed it on me, you conniving arse!"

"It wasn't that bad," Harry mumbled. "You were being a Slytherin, I wasn't. What's up with you? You weren't like this before..." He seemed somehow unsure. I dunno. I wasn't paying him much attention but I knew that he wasn't sure he was right. Of course I hadn't been like this before though! I hadn't been tossed into Slytherin for no reason before! I hadn't almost been _killed_ before!

I glared. I don't mean that I narrowed my eyes and scrunched up my face. I mean that I looked him straight in the eye and _glared_. There's a difference. Scrunching up one's face to glare is like pouting, but I mimicked Snape. If he reported that to Mum and Dad, all the better. They would know what my twin brother did to me. He turned me into a Slytherin.

"How was _I_being a Slytherin? I was defending my friend because Ron was being a prick, and when a Troll comes and attacks me, you say it's my fault! You're the one who was being a stupid sodding Slytherin!" And, with this angered howl, I fled my sanctuary, heading instead to Hermione's. If I was with her, than Harry usually let well enough alone.

Usually.

"Harry being mean again?" Hermione asked without looking up as I flopped next to her. She was helping Hannah Abbott with her Charms work, and the girl had jumped when I took the chair.

"Yes," I murmured. "Apparently blaming the entire situation on me 'wasn't that big a deal'. If Mum knew, he wouldn't be saying that. He'd be fearing for his life instead of being all big headed and stuff." I harrumphed my disapproval. "I have to find a new pit of despair."

"Oh? You've finally admitted that bit at least," Hermione was hardly paying attention to me as she demonstrated the motions for the unlocking charm. "Of course, he was bound to come after you. And since your hidey hole is rather near to the Gryffindor Commons – and no, I'm not telling you where they are – it was only a matter of time really. As much of a git as he is, he is a Potter. You said yourself that Potter's are – usually – loyal to a fault."

I didn't reply, and just moped in my seat. Hannah had quickly fled, and Hermione dismissed herself to go for dinner. I ignored that, and retreated to a corner of the library for a while, plucking through books to get my mind off of everything. Mum always said it was a healthier habit than sulking after all.

Setting down with a book on Defense Against Dark Creatures (Uncle Moony gave Harry and I lessons, so the familiar grounds might help soothe me), I spent all through dinner reading. I heard Hermione come in again, chatting quietly with Neville in the next aisle over – the Herbology aisle – but ignored them. Until, of course, my brother stepped in. One would think that he might know to leave well enough alone, yet there he was, attempting once more to recruit my friends to his "fan club".

"Hello Hermione, Neville," Harry said jovially as the sounds of his feet trotted through the aisle. I leaned nearer the bookshelves to hear whatever was said. "Wanna watch the Gryffindor Quidditch practice? It's rather nice outside, and we're starting up in a bit. You're going to be at the game tomorrow, right?"

"I'd rather not," I could practically hear Hermione pursing her lips as she said this. "I have studying to do, you see. Quidditch isn't that great really. Besides," she paused here, most likely for effect, "I'd rather not be on the whole other side of the field from my friend. You do know what friends are of course?"

"Huh? Of course I do!" Harry's vexation was clearly audible.

"Good, then you know well enough that we aren't yours," Neville put in. Two chairs scraped against the carpet. "Hey 'Mione, let's go find Chaz. Still upstairs, right?"

"You mean the pit of despair? No. Harry found him out," She replied nonchalantly.

A smirk formed on my lips. They were ignoring him! I could just barely see through the crack of two books the shocked look on Harry's face. He was stammering in shock. He wasn't used to anyone refusing him after all, aside from Slytherins, so this was a great upheaval to his attitide. I felt he was getting his just reward, as I'm sure Hermione and Neville did as they ignored him in favor of pursuing me...

Right. At that point I got up from my seat and met them quickly at the end of their row, surprised, but pleased to see me.

"Evening Hermione, Neville," I smiled happily at them. "You were right, the Library is better than a pit of despair." I fell into step with my friends as they continued down the Herbology aisle, Harry somewhere behind us. "There's more to do than stew in my own thoughts, like watch while my brother makes a fool of himself."

Hermione giggled and Neville chuckled. "Right mate," Neville muttered. "Want to play some exploding snap before curfew?"

And so, I finally fell from pit of despair into an anti-pit. After two months of moping, I was happier, knowing my friends weren't about to leave me for my famous prat of a brother. They stood up for me when they didn't know I was there. They hadn't sided with my brother, laughing about me behind my back. Thinking that I was elsewhere, they had defended me in a manner that I shouldn't have known about. Hermione and Neville were true friends, and it sort of covered up the hole left from Harry's betrayal.

Yes, these were my friends, and nothing that the famous Boy-Who-Lived could do would take that from me.

Of course, that wound was continually opened every time I actually saw my brother. His continual approaches to try and recruit my friends. It kept reminding me of something Mum once said, when Lucius Malfoy had called her a "mudblood".

_"Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,"_ She had taunted. Dad had said that it depended on who was saying those words, because sometimes, if the right person insulted you, it would be worse than a thousand sticks and stones. I guess he meant when Mum hated him in school. Uncle Pads said he had always been miserable back then, that no matter how happy he was one moment, a single look of anger from Mum would put him in a mood all day.

And that's how it was with Harry, except he was actively moving against me, whereas with Mum and Dad, Mum just found him annoying. No, this was different, and the same, everything else. Harry was my brother, and until Hogwarts we had been so close! And yet the moment the Sorting began, we were suddenly apart, and that gap had grown, finally thrust very wide when Harry insulted me.

And every time that I saw him, it was like he was reopening that wound he first carved. He came frequently to the library, where I holed up with Hermione, usually doing homework and then reading from the novel section, and tried to sway her to his side, whether I was there or not.

"You would have been the worst Hufflepuff on the face of the planet, Potter," Hermione had huffed one day. "You're about as kind and caring as _Goyle_. About as smart as well, so you wouldn't have made Ravenclaw. Honestly, how you became a Gryffindor when all you do is try and smite your own brother is beyond me!" And she had slammed her book closed, leaving.

Hermione was always the best for telling Harry off, he would get this really sad look in his eyes. At first we thought he might've had a crush on her, but this was quickly dispelled, as he didn't act anything like Dad had. He just really wanted to be Hermione's friend.

Christmas came quickly, with each day much the same. Mum wrote for both Harry and myself to return for the holiday, and I did so reluctantly. The only time I would have had the dungeon to myself, and my mum decides she want me home, where I'd get suspicious looks from Dad at the very least, and my own Godfather. It wouldn't be a happy Christmas because my dad still wasn't over what house I'd been sorted into, to the best of my knowledge. It was pathetic. But I had to go home, so it was with a leaden heart that I climbed on the Hogwarts Express with Hermione, Neville, and Hannah (who had, by this point, understood that I wasn't about to bite her).

My first Christmas as a Slytherin was not going to be a pleasant experience, I was certain.

* * *

Author's Note: First point- why did Harry blame the troll incident on Charlus? Well, for one, he's Harry, so impulsive. He didn't bother to think it up before, so he says something. It can't be "oh, well, you see, my friend was insulting Charlus' friend, and then he got mad at us, and I insulted him, and he ran away to cry in the toilets. I only came up to make sure the girl my friend was insulting didn't get hurt." He also can't say that he's from an alternate future, because that would be weird, and he'd be committed to St. Mungo's. Instead, Harry does the first thing he can think of- he blames it on the innocent bystander that was there because of him. Oh, and Harry didn't personally tell his parents. He told McG and she spread that on to the Potter parents.

The real question is this: how did the troll get to the seventh floor?

Quirrell is a bit more into the whole "get rid of Harry" thing, so he put it on the same floor as the Gryffindor commons and diverted the Professors to the wrong place, but a few teachers were sent to scour the other floors, in case there was more than just a troll running about, and the little pack (McGonagall, Vektor, and Flitwick) heard the crashes from about two floors below, took short cuts, and voila. Instant teachers.

Second point- No, Charlus doesn't actually hate Harry... not his Harry anyway. He's really confused and angry and hates what has been happening with his brother since early October, but he can't hate his brother. Potters are loyal to a fault, and that's not changing. Poor Chaz is angry that his brother was so mean, disgusted he would try and take his friends, and confused as to why he's acting like that.

There is (almost) no jealousy, because he knows Harry hates the attention, and because he knows that he would hate it too.

There is no feud starting up, just a fight. Don't worry, they will start being more brotherly near third, maybe fourth, year, still deciding just when. They do make up for a bit for chapters 3-5.

Third point- Chaz is NOT emo (though he will seem it near the end of his 2nd year summer). He is just really freaking weird, and a bit unstable, because he doesn't have a hobby... until now. He has, officially, gotten into reading, much to Hermione's delight. As will be mentioned in the next chapter, he is now heavily into fiction, especially of the muggle variety. He will be reading a lot about dark creatures though, so he'll be über amazing when/if Remus teaches. I haven't decided that yet.

Fourth point- the two groups will at least sorta meld, they will not be against each other. One of said groups will also dissolve a bit later. The "Trio" will never be the trio again, but I am keeping the Hermione/Ron shipping from canon, so they obviously have to get along a bit. Other pairings (not that I'll be focusing much on them) are secret. You can't even count on Harry/Ginny, just so you know. If you read my profile, you'll know my stance on it anyway.

Fifth point- I am a girl. I dunno why, but there is someone who reads my poetry and stuff who quoted one of my summaries (for Revenge part 1, they used "rated M for corpses" as a quote) who thought I'm a guy. I am indeed female. I just get a lot of ideas that would work better from the male perspective (as will be proven when I have more stories up... which, I'll admit, won't be for a while, maybe not 'til I'm done with this story).

Sorry this is a bit late, my sis was hogging the comp. Well, have a good week!


	4. First Christmas and a Dark Birthday

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 3**

**Harry's First Christmas and a Dark Birthday**

**"Christmas waves a magic wand over the world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful."**

**Norman Vincent Peale**

"**A pessimist only sees the dark side of the clouds, and mopes; a philosopher sees both sides and shrugs; an optimist doesn't see the clouds at all--he's walking on them."**

**Leonard L. Levinson**

.Harry Potter.

My first Christmas with my family was not beginning well. For start, Hermione gave me a scathing look as everyone got on the train. My brother was right behind her, but seemed not to see me. On the train, I only had Terry to talk with, but I didn't get on with him terribly well. He was buried in books, and never at all sociable. We just weren't... compatible. And he was always suspicious of how I _knew things_ without ever studying. Maybe there was a tiny perk to not being friends with Hermione. She would have been beyond suspicious by now, not just miffed. Either way, it began with a glare, then a boring ride.

At the Train Station, Charlus found my parents before me! This was my first time meeting them, and he got to them first! Not that he knew or anything, but he seemed to be doing it just to spite me.

"Hey Charlie, how's school been since the... incident?" James Potter, my _dad_, asked as I approached.

I saw Charlus bite his lip. "Normal," He muttered. "I found the novel section of the Library since then. It's kinda odd, reading muggle novels. They get everything about magic mixed up! Hermione's top of our year of course, and she helps Neville, Hannah and I when we need it, although she gets a bit of tutoring from Neville on the practical side of Herbology." And he didn't tell him how it had been at all, just that he was reading and his friends were smart. Crafty.

I pursed my lips but approached. Whenever I imagined meeting my parents, I always imagined a tear filled reunion, or not being able to say a word, because I would have a lump of emotion caught in my throat or something... but that wasn't it at all. I just walked up, smiled, and said hello like it was an everyday thing.

Yeah, the vacation started badly, but just by having my parents _there_, where I could hug them and everything, made all that stupid stuff fly out of my head. These were my _parents_! Conversation was cut as my dad took our trunks and dragged them from the station and to the family car (Mum driving of course), and we arrived home. Sirius and Remus were there. Last I'd seen Remus he was dead next to Tonks (though Teddy looked quite a lot like him), and I was excited to see both.

Apparently it was normal for Charlus and I to pounce on the Marauders, as he tackled Moony, and I Padfoot. "Ah, Pronglet! Mini-Prongs!" Sirius using nicknames for my brother and I was great. (I was apparently Pronglet.) Charlus had released Remus, and I reluctantly let go of Sirius. We immediately swapped our hugs, and then sat on the floor in front of our respective Godfathers.

"I'm rather ashamed with you both," Sirius said suddenly, and my jaw dropped. What had I done to disappoint him? "Your dad said there wasn't a single letter home about _any_ pranking! What sort of Marauders in training do you think you are?"

"Um..." Charlus began with a seeming stutter, but it sounded confident. Nothing like he'd been at school the whole time I'd known him. "The very sneaky kind?"

"I see," Remus perked an eyebrow. "Well, at least you didn't do anything worse than try and wrestle with a troll, either of you. I'd hate to see what happens when there's real trouble a foot..." And soon, a tale was spun about when the Marauders first discovered the lycanthropy of my previous Defense Professor, and how "it scared the pants off of the others when they saw him changing".

It was three hours later, just as I was about to head off to bed, that Charlus cornered me. "Harry, listen, we need to act like nothing happened, got it? For Mum's sake at least," He looked me straight in the eye. "So far as she can know, the worst was us having a little tiff, and now we're on good terms. If she found out you were being a total prat, and all that rubbish, we'd never hear the end of it, and she'd have no voice left Christmas."

I hesitated, but nodded finally. "For Mum," I agreed with a sigh. I wouldn't do anything to ruin my first family Christmas. I just _couldn't!_

"Right then," My auburn haired brother nodded brightly, a fake smile plastered on his face. "See you in the morning! We've got last minute Christmas shopping to do. Try and think up what we should get for Mum, yeah? I've got an idea, but I'll need input."

* * *

Christmas was ten times better than I ever could have imagined it. Just being at _home_ with my _parents_ was enough to make me on a permanent hyper mode, but the additions of my father's friends (who were quite dead in my own world) was amazing.

Remus and Tonks were actually married already, and they were expecting a girl soon. When asking what the Potters (and Sirius) thought for a name, I gave them the one that Tonks had told me was what she would want to name a girl. Emmalie. It was simple, wouldn't cause any loathing, had cute nickname possibilities, and was just spelt a little off. Just like she'd said when first telling him this, Tonks rambled this off as soon as I suggested it, sending a triumphant look at her husband.

Sirius was actually engaged to his girlfriend of three years, Cynthia, which surprised me too. Of course, I was surprised that he wasn't an escaped convict out to kill a rat, but it was true. His girlfriend was a Canadian witch with some banshee blood in her (from about twenty generations back), and due to the dilution of her blood could actually prevent some deaths she sensed. It almost made sense.

Seeing my mum and dad together, cuddling and laughing by the fire was amazing. While the three adult couples would sit with their spiked eggnog, giggling over something or other, I could learn a lot about them. My mum was ticklish. Dad was a freelance auror and had different reflexes than me, but obviously still Quidditch related, Chaser, as he played the position a lot, and professionally. Cyn revealed that Sirius had a love of cinnamon by "accidentally" dumping a lot in his drink, and he revealed, in turn, that she was very shy about hugs (other shows of affection were no problem, she just felt uncomfortable being hugged). Tonks' hair would swap automatically to fire engine red when Remus kissed her (resulting in much drunken giggling around), and Remus was actually an animagus here, of a rabbit. I wasn't the only one finding it ironic considering his "furry little problem".

Christmas dawned bright and early after the Christmas Eve hi-jinx. Everyone was wearing their Christmas gift that they'd received the night before: pajamas of their favorite... something. It was a large gathering, of Potters, Sirius and Cynthia and her family, the Lupins and Tonks' family. I wore pajamas with Hippogriffs on them, Mum's was snowflakes falling. Dad had stags prancing proudly about while Charlus sat contented in his London Lords pjs, because that was apparently his favorite Quidditch team. Remus had bunnies and wolves, Tonks' changed colors with her hair, Andromeda (who still looked a lot like her older sister) adorned in glittery amethyst while Ted Tonks (he looked so different from little Teddy) bore plain gray that would suddenly change to something else for an instant (as a fan of shock factor in anything). Sirius was covered in a menagerie of canines while Cynthia had eggnog written in fancy writing all over. Her family wore very odd stripes and polka dots that somehow suited them, in a twisted way.

"Right then!" Dad was on his feet, passing Santa hats or reindeer antlers to everyone. Boys were Santas, and girls Reindeer, though Dad wore antlers under his hat as well. "I am James, the hat bearing reindeer." He bowed low before turning into a stag and back. "As such, I am to deliver presents!" And so he did.

I got too many things to count, having to do with anything from Quidditch to Potions to Pranks to Advanced Magical Theory. It was the Tonks family who got me theory, Sirius pranks, and (surprisingly) Snape sent me the Potions workbooks, although he was actually rather nice, I'd noticed, usually just ignoring me instead of badgering. I got pretty much anything and everything from my parents.

Charlus got the same treatment, though his Quidditch things were for the Keeper. Obviously, our flying skills were in different areas. By dad's boasting, he could rarely get a shot on him. _That_ was certainly impressive for an eleven year old as small and scrawny as him to block the shots of a Professional Chaser on one of the top ranked teams (Welsh Wildebeests).

"_Da-ad_!" Charlus groaned. "I didn't do half those stunts and you know it. Mum would kill me if I had." He pouted slightly. "She's as worrisome as ten Madame Pomfrey's combined, even from your stories."

Yes, good mannered teasing, tickle fights, prank duels between the Marauders, and everything else I could have ever imagined it would have been like had I had a proper family. Everything was so perfect for this Christmas. Coming to this Universe/Dimension was probably the best thing I'd done in ages... aside from Ginny and Teddy and my son-that-would-have-been, James, that I'd left behind in his accidental deportment between universes.

The day of Christmas was grand, Boxing day a whole new brand of fun, and it wasn't until New Year's Eve that anything unfortunate happened, not that I particularly cared, but everyone else did. I should have known better than to think I could be this happy without intrusion.

* * *

.Quirinus Quirrell.

I decided a long time ago that life wasn't fair.

If life were fair, I wouldn't have the Darkest wizard since Slytherin himself sticking out the back of my head. I wouldn't be teaching Harry Potter things he apparently already knows (the way he sleeps through lessons, and yet always answers questions and can give any practical demonstration made this long since apparent), and I certainly wouldn't be hounded by Severus Snape whenever I tried to do as Master wished. No, life was certainly not fair, but at my Lord's insistence, I got a small retribution for it.

That was why four muggles were currently laying dead in their home in Surrey. It was done the muggle way of course, to keep from arousing suspicion.

So, one man the size of a baby elephant had his throat slit, his stick thin wife seemed to be shot in the heart (though I'd used a spell to create and propel a bullet, as a muggle fire-leg was too unwieldy), and their whale of a son was similarly shot through the forehead. The other whale-sized person, probably the elephant-man's sister, had a heart attack when I apparated in.

It had been quite early New Year's Eve I'd done it, and it pleased my Lord. Using mainly muggle methods to undo them was gorier, and left a message. Anything of value had been taken and burned to add to the seeming image of a muggle murder. I had no doubt that the Potter's would receive a notice telling them of the death's soon.

The neighbors would have heard things and called the Please-men by now, and as soon as that happened, it would be found that the only relative on the wife's side was Lily Potter, and it was doubtful there were any on the husband's. A magical contact would go out to identify the body. Most likely, they would know about the supposed muggle robbing by midnight.

"Happy Birthday my Lord," I muttered as we sat in my office.

His reply came unhindered by the turban and directly to my mind._'Happy Birthday to Me indeed, Quirrell,'_ His voice cackled through the silence of the room. ­­­­­­­

* * *

.Neville Longbottom.

It happened at the New Year's party. Mum and Dad, as always, were greeting guests in the Entrance Hall, and Gran was speaking with some of the more elderly guests, such as Madam Marshbanks (who would, apparently, be watching over the O.W.L exams when I was old enough to sit them).

I was in a corner with Charlie, Hermione, and Hannah at the time. Harry hovered nearby with his usual entourage of Terry, Ron (his family had apparently sprung him for the night before they were set to head back off to Romania to finish the vacation), and Ernie, with Ron's little sister Ginny staring at him with an awestruck gaze, despite having known him for a long while. The twins had come by our group for a bit, wished us all a pleasant holiday, and bounced off to Ron to pester him and make him blush. It was rather entertaining.

There were a fair amount of Hogwarts students there of course, as my family was quite popular. Mum and Dad were some of the best like Aurors, alongside Sirius Black of course, and had many friends, and many of those friends had children. There were the stuffies who socialized with Gran as well, and they were always invited.

It was the typical Longbottom-Potter combined New Year's gala in a rented ball room in London. Everything was beautiful, and semi-formal (so while dress robes weren't necessary, a nice collared shirt and dress pants under one's robes was expected). The entire affair was quite normal until a quarter 'til midnight.

It began when James Potter approached the group with a sad expression. He requested that Charlie come with him, and then retrieved Harry (one of few instances where Charlie was first for anything) and left the ballroom. I followed discretely, as Charlie had given me permission in such instances, using the special ability passed from my mother's side. As she was the granddaughter of Aberforth Dumbledore, I gained the ability of invisibility given only to the Dumbledore line from their descending from Rowena Ravenclaw.

I pursued the Potter's to a small offshoot of the ballroom, where Mrs. Potter was crying quietly on a chintz arm chair. Obviously, whatever had happened was horrible.

"Boys," Mr. Potter looked at them both sadly. I hid in my corner, watching. Whatever it was, Charlus would need a sympathetic shoulder, and despite the truce between them, I knew that Harry wasn't the right shoulder. "We just got a letter from the ministry."

Oh, that sentence never boded well. I made ready my escape, in case everyone broke down. That sentence meant someone was dead. But who? The Potter family was just these, and everyone else was at the party behind me.

"It said that," James choked a moment as he bit back a sob. "That your Petunia, Vernon, Dudley, and Vernon's sister Marge all died this morning. They were murdered in a robbery at their home when they sat down for breakfast. Your Mum was called in to identify the bodies, and it was them."

"You're joking, right?" Harry's voice was flat, as if not believing. Except it wasn't that he didn't seem to believe they were dead, more that his dad was so emotional about it.

"Of course he's not joking Harry!" Charlie's face was streaked with tears. "Dad wouldn't joke about something like that! And... and we were going to have Dudley over tomorrow too..." He fell into a chair and started crying.

I couldn't move either. I knew Dudley, and he was a nice boy. A bit bossy and overweight, but he had an eating disorder, it couldn't be helped. And... and Dudley was _dead!_But... Harry didn't seem to care. Something was up with the Wizarding World's Boy Wonder, and I was going to find out, for Charlie's sake, and that of his family.

* * *

Author's Note: And so the suspicions begin! Okay, I'll start with the explanations about the Dursleys, shall I? Kay, so here we go – In 1981, when Petunia found out that her sister had nearly been murdered by a madman, she sort of "saw the light" I guess you could say, and sought to fix what Snape broke between them. After Vernon found a common interest with James (football – not American style) they were all basically family, though they didn't like Marge, so nothing there.

By the way, in my story, Tonks is about five years older than canon, Remus' job is teaching the aurors and the new recruits for the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures about Dark creatures. (He will take a year off for teaching at Hogwarts though) They met when he was teaching Dora's class on how to deal with certain creatures if they were encountered on a mission, and ended up hitting it off. That is all.

Yes! I did a Quirrell POV! I'm not doing any from Voldemuffins' (heh, "flight from muffins") side until book 2 (which starts chapter 6, expect them in chapters 9 and 11).

Chapter outlines! Or, rather, telling you the basics (very very basics) of the next few chapters to come. I'm only putting this through the end of Second Year. Why? Because I don't want to spoil anything. End of Second year will be climactic, I think... and as it's written, I'd like to think I know : ) And yes, all the chapters below have been written. Huzzah. This should be one of the shortest chapters I write. No worries.

Chap 4: The Firebrand and the Challenges (Chaz's POV on the end of book one)  
Chap 5: Behind the Stutter (which is anticlimactic on purpose, and short)  
Chap 6: A Dystopia Known as Summer (which covers the summer before second year)  
Chap 7: Into Twilight (Which has the first Hannah POV)  
Chap 8: Serpentine Me (the start of the good stuff in book 2)  
Chap 9: Connect the Dots (which is one of my favorites to date)  
Chap 10: Riddle Me This (Things going on with the Daily Prophet... hm...)  
Chap 11: Mistaken - Multi-POV, end of book 2, and a bit extra. Mostly swapping between the POV of Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Includes some of Chaz's POV as well (because he doesn't have enough for that bit to merit a whole chapter, and I didn't feel like doing runover for him).


	5. Firebrand and the Challenges

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 4**

**The Firebrand and the Challenges**

**"If one does not understand a person, one tends to regard him as a fool."**

Carl Gustav Jung

.Charlus Potter.

Things were horrid after New Year's. I missed my usual owl from Aunt Petunia. It always went to me, because it liked me best, and I was to give the message to Harry, but I never got it because whenever I tried, he wouldn't let me after September. Maybe he wasn't terribly affected because he thought they didn't care, as he never got to read the letters sent our way from her. But after that night, the rest of us were in morning. We had all of January off to mourn, and yet Harry didn't seem to care.

Not only did he not seem to care, he almost seemed... glad. He had this_ look_ about him whenever we mentioned Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, and especially Marge (though, I'll admit, I wasn't too keen on her either, but her dog, Ripper, was nice enough). It was only when Dudley was spoken about that he didn't seem affected. He looked a bit confused, as though he wasn't sure how to react.

That first month was horrible, having the rest of us trying to get on (though Harry and I were home until the end of January), and having Harry take it in stride. No one had died in the family, or close to us, since Grandma Cheri (Mum's mum) died when Voldemort attacked, saving Harry's life. And yet he acted like he'd seen it all, and worse, before.

February came and went, with Harry receiving a new world record for Valentine's day cards (beating out even Gilderoy Lockhart!) on the 14th, and mum sending the sappiest valentine I'd ever seen, with dad's usual addition of "Hershey's Hugs" (an American chocolate that was half white, half milk). Harry and I weren't fighting anymore, and had civil conversation on occasion, but he always seemed to have a hidden agenda (outside of me creaming him at chess I mean).

March was bleak and boring, and Hermione had us all studying. Hannah and I finally became friends around St. Patrick's day, and then everyone went home for Easter. Harry joined us for study sessions too, though he was often reading up on the weirdest things. I spent the week at home, helping Mum around the house, and Dad was proud with the first letter home about Harry and I; we had plotted a prank to keep him happy and gave everyone in the Great Hall rabbit ears for Easter (using the help of Fred and George of course, as they knew much more than we did).

It was early April when we returned from the holiday, and it was finally in late April when something happened.

As usual, our group was in the library, revising. Well, Hermione was revising, Neville and I were playing chess (muggle style so as not to be reprimanded for being noisy), and Hannah was reading a book about various elves written by muggles, including brownies (wild house elves), the infamous wishing elves, and the child stealing fey, and their infamous kidnappings of the late 1800's.

"Knight to F7," I grinned, moving my piece by hand. While it wasn't to hard to learn to move the pieces myself, I couldn't get used to not saying the space. "Checkmate."

Neville groaned. "If you'd moved any other piece I would've won next turn," He sighed, taking back the white pieces from my side of the board. "One move and my Queen would've cornered you!" He set his queen back into position, as it had been one move shy of being in a murderous square.

"And I would've taken it with my pawn," I grinned, picking up the piece in question. "One more round? We're tied now for the month, we only have a couple days to decide our winner."

"Of course," Neville nodded, then stopped. "Hagrid, what're you doing in the library?"

I turned about in my seat, and behind me was, indeed, the large figure of the Hogwarts Keeper of the Keys and Grounds. He held a leather bound book that had a picture of a dragon coming from its egg on the cover. He was retreating from the Magical Creatures aisle of the library that I had taken a liking to.

"Afternoon Hagrid," I said in a slightly happier voice than normal. "We still on for tea tomorrow?"

"Er, yeah," He nodded. "Uh, I mean, no, can't, sorry. Business to take care of."

"Anything to do with that book?" I pointed my thumb at the copy of "From Embryo to Firebrand" by Professor Edmund George Gershwin-White. "You haven't actually got one, have you? 'Course, what with the Stone, I guess a dragon would be a good measure too, on top of Fluffy."

Yes, we knew about the Philosopher's Stone. Harry had been dropping hints around Hermione since Christmas, mentioning a Cerberus named Fluffy in the Forbidden Corridor, and how it was standing on a trap door. He made mention of Hagrid slipping the name Nicholas Flamel, and how he had once read his name in an alchemy text (though why my brother would be reading up on Alchemy was beyond me).

So, Hermione had worked it out within a week, and Harry continued dropping hints, as though he hoped Hermione would let him in on it. He mentioned how he wished he were better at chess, something about Charms that gave keys wings, trolls (though this was obviously just to egg me on). He paid rapt attention in Herbology when we studied Devil's Snare too, which was suspicious, as he had the opposite of a green thumb. He also made a habit of playing logic puzzles with Hermione, and she couldn't resist the challenge. He even gave her a flute for Christmas!

It was as if he knew everything about this Stone and what else would be guarding it.

"H-how do yeh-?" Hagrid stopped himself. "You lot had better come teh me hut later today. I need teh see 'ow much yeh know. 'Arry is comin' too though, and I don' want yeh teh cause any fuss, alrigh'?"

Hermione nodded, interested in the conversation from the moment I mentioned the Stone. Hannah was also rapt as she listened in.

"Of course we won't fuss Hagrid," Hannah said quickly, "but why only Harry? I'd expect if Harry knew, so would his friends. Harry's not one to keep these things secret from what I hear."

"'E said tha' they jus' don'," Hagrid murmured nervously, "Jus' come down an hour b'fore dinner, we can talk then."

And with that the half-giant left, probably to tend to the dragon egg. He had, after all, neglected to say that he didn't have one. He probably had Dumbledore's permission for the thing as well, to help guard the Stone.

An hour later, the four of us tramped down to Hagrid's cabin. Harry was already inside playing with Fang when we got there, but stopped when he heard us greeting Hagrid. He shot the large man a look, but didn't question our being there anymore than that.

"'Lo Charlus, Hermione, Neville, Hannah," He nodded to us each in turn before scratching Fang's stomach and making his leg twitch. I ignored him.

"So, Hagrid, do you really have a you-know-what?" I asked, excited. I didn't know if Harry knew that bit, though judging by his eye roll he did.

"Er, yeah, I do," He murmured sheepishly, walking us over to the fire where, in a hanging cauldron, sat an obsidian egg with spindly gray markings across it. "The female's like teh blow fire on 'em, and the book said tha' putting them in a fire'll do summat the same. I figure it'll be a week or two 'fore it hatches."

"Hagrid... you live in a wooden house," Hermione started, sounding nervous. "How do you expect to raise it in here?"

"Not teh worry Hermione," He said happily. "Chaz gave me the idea teh talk teh Dumbledore, and 'e agreed tha' a dragon would be great fer protectin' the Stone on top o' the uh... other things. When 'e's big enough teh blow fire, 'e'll be protectin' that Stone with Fluffy and the other things what're guardin' it."

"He'll be protecting the Stone?" Harry sounded surprised, heck, he looked it too. He hadn't been surprised in ages! Not when his broom was jinxed, or when he found Snape would be reffing for his second Quidditch match (in fact, he seemed a bit... triumphant when I saw him before the game). He hadn't even been surprised when Dean turned himself blue during Transfigurations! It was like he knew everything... except, apparently, that a dragon would soon be guarding the Philosopher's Stone.

"Yep! You can be' no one will be getting at the stone with both Fluffy and a dragon, let alone wha' the professors 'ave done to protect it," Hagrid thumped a hand on my shoulder causing me to stagger. He had a very heavy hand after all!

After almost an hour with Hagrid, we learned nothing new, except confirmation for much of what Harry "told" us. It was, despite this, quite productive, because now we knew what was down there, and truth be told, we weren't impressed.

A Cerberus, a species notorious for being easy to subdue with music. Thus the flute, which Hannah played very well.

Devil's Snare, beaten back by flames, which could be conjured, or using a match if necessary.

Flying keys which, though not quite my cup of tea, it wouldn't be too hard to get because I was an alright seeker (though Harry could get through lickety-split).

A giant chess set, which between Neville and I (or just Ron even) could be taken care of.

A troll, very difficult, admittedly, but anyone capable of a leg-locker jinx could get it out of the way for a while.

Potions in a logic puzzle, which Hermione could manage very quickly now that Harry had been getting her into them.

The dragon, one week later christened "Norberta" (as Harry had pointed out she was a girl, though we usually called her Nora) would be difficult, except she really liked Hannah and Neville, and they were even admitted to the level of protection she was in to visit with Hagrid.

We didn't know what the last bit was, but the fact that everything else could be easily bypassed by a few first years gave us pause. What could Dumbledore be thinking, letting such easy challenges be between someone and the Elixir of Life? It was pathetic. Shouldn't they have used magic scanners to make sure only accepted personnel were allowed through (as in Dumbledore and Flamel)? Obviously, the Headmaster was as daft as everyone thought.

* * *

It wasn't until the Final Examinations for the year were closing that anything happened. Dumbledore had excused himself from dinner to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot, leaving whoever it was that was after the Stone (Harry was clear it wasn't Snape) to do as they wished. Harry had excused himself early and brought Neville with him, much to the annoyance of his own friends. 

Hannah, Hermione and I followed after a bit, and confronted Harry near a suit of armor on the second floor.

"Okay Harry, we've played your stupid games long enough," Hannah started to lay into him. "We're getting sick of it! Why not use your own friends for this stuff? We have lives beyond your hero complex you know!"

"I couldn't get them to do it! Ron would have-" I cut him off.

"So basically we're your throw aways," I growled. "You won't put your own mates in danger, so you take me and mine to help you with whatever it is you need done. You want Neville and I because we can beat you at chess any day of the week, Hermione because, unlike your crew, she has a brain, and Hannah because of Fluffy and Nora. Nice Harry."

"What? No!" He seemed completely surprised, but I'd already learned that Harry could school his face as well as any Occlumens. "I can't trust them with this, okay? Can you imagine them believing me if I said it was Quirrell who is after the Stone?"

There was a moment of silence before Neville snorted, and this sent the rest of us laughing. "Professor Quirrell, try and steal the Philosopher's Stone?" Neville turned to me. "Your brother has gone mad, Charlie."

"I agree," I nodded emphatically. "While it can't be Snape – he hates the idea of everlasting life and getting money without working for it – I can't see that pansy of a Professor doing anything of the sort. I was figuring more along the lines of Malfoy's dad."

Harry glared at us. "I'm being serious here!" He groaned. "We need to get there tonight and catch up to Quirrell. He has Voldemort sticking out the back of his head!"

The laughter died instantly and we just stared. "You think that You-Know-Who is under the turban..." Hermione blinked. "And so he's going to get the Stone to bring him back to life?"

"Yes! If you had just waited for me to explain instead of poking fun, I could've told you sooner you know," Harry huffed, aggravated. "Whenever he turns his back to me, I get this stab of pain right on my scar, or whenever he's too near. Remember last week when he accidentally touched my arm to stop me touching that shrunken head and his hand got burned?"

"That... that's true," Neville looked at his friends, aka us, and nodded slightly. "Quirrell did pull him back from the new shrunken head, saying something about protection magicks, and when his hand touched Harry's skin there was this sizzling noise, and his hand turned up pink. Everyone took it as accidental magic, since Harry was surprised, but that was it. You're saying that happened because he has Voldemort in him?"

Harry nodded. "Voldemort can't touch me physically right now. He might in the future, but for now he can't. I figure we can get down there on his tail and I can keep him away from the Stone long enough for a teacher, probably Snape, to get down there."

Silence again. "Um... Harry, you're eleven. How do you expect to hold off the darkest wizard since Slytherin himself? He's like, 70 years old, and the only wizard more powerful than him is at a Wizengamot meeting right now," Hannah said this slowly, as if he were a particularly violent mental patient who she didn't wish to anger. "He knows dark magic that would make your insides catch fire. The worst you can do is make him trip. It's kinda obvious who would win, and the winner will be of age."

"Why don't we just tell Snape and McGonagall right now? If you're so adamant about it being Quirrell, they should at least know. I'm sure they know how to get through certain bits, at least their own, quickly," Hermione suggested immediately. "It would save a lot of trouble, and we probably won't die that way, or worse, get_ expelled_."

Silence. For the third time.

"Riiight," I murmured. "Harry, if you can offer proper proof, then I'll come along. I need something to keep occupied with until your game on Sunday anyway."

And thus began the first year caper, the rescue of the Philosopher's Stone from one evil Dark Lord, who just so happened to be Hell bent on the destruction of current wizarding society. Because we did agree to go, and it wasn't the smartest thing any of us ever did.

* * *

Fluffy was easy. Hannah went in first, and, upon finding an automatic harp, reactivated it before Fluffy could get at us, saving her the need from getting finger cramps by playing her flute. 

Next was the Devil's Snare, as Neville identified, and he gave us everything we needed to know. The large plant was decimated after we all landed safely. Hermione's blue-bell flames this time.

The key was a bit harder, as only Harry and I were anything on a broom, but we managed to corner the dratted thing, and put it in the lock to come to a giant chess set. It was over in ten minutes thanks to Neville and me.

When we came upon Nora, she let us pass after Hannah opted to stay behind with her. Neville did as well, as the person-sized reptile didn't like him leaving yet.

What we had rued most, the troll, was already taken care of, and Harry took this as extra evidence. Apparently, Quirrell was famous for his skill with trolls, and we were too choked from the scent to argue.

The last challenge (we assumed) was Snape's. The potions (along with nettle wine apparently) were lined up, and even I had the puzzle solved quickly. Hermione had it a moment earlier, after comparing two phials for size, and thrust the next to smallest into Harry's hand.

"This will take you through to the next room, but there's just the one dose. I'm going to go back and make sure the troll stays out of it," Hermione explained. "Charlus, you keep here. If Quirrell comes through, hex him. If Harry, help him obviously. Both of you... be careful!" She gave Harry and I both hugs at this point, downed her potion and left. The phial she had held refilled as soon as Harry went through to the next room.

It was twenty minutes later when a figure came through the flames.

* * *

Author's Note: What should I put down here today? Let's see... Okay, I skipped from Xmas to Norberta. Why? Well, nothing really important happened then. Harry dropped a lot of clues, so the "research" took about a week, not counting stuff they already knew. Harry picked Charlus' group to go with him because, while he is now really good friends with Terry and Ernie (Ron always had been his best friend after all) none of them had the skills necessary to help, and Norberta liked Hannah and Neville (those of you who read the JKR interview know why it's them she likes), and without someone decent at chess (since he's horrid) he needed either Ron (who would drag along some tag-alongs known as Terry and Ernie) or Neville and Charlus, so without all of them he couldn't get by. He also really wanted to include Hermione. 

Harry is more competent in this series by the way. Being an auror/Defense teacher does that to you (that's explained in the chapter 5 author's note cause I'm too lazy to put it in here). However, he is not Super Harry. Regarding Charlus - he got some of his mother's bookishness, which Hermione encourages of course, and is actually a fairly powerful kid. He's also one of the top students because of his reading. From chapter 6 on, this is blown up a bit, but it's understandable. Trust me :)

Anything else...? Hm. Not that I can think of. If you want anything explained, review, e-mail, PM... whatever. I will answer you privately, or if I get a question that I realize ought to be explained, I'll put it in the next chapter. No worries...

See you Wednesday! Happy Thanksgiving for my fellow Americans :)


	6. Behind the Stutter

**Just sos ya know: Anticlimactic chapter! Like, really anticlimactic, sappy, and against everything I stand for. Sorry about that. Really. But you'd already know this if you read the AN a couple chapters ago... so... yeah. Read! Please?  
**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 5**

**Behind the Stutter**

**"I've gone identity mad!  
I could be brown,  
I could be blue,  
I could be violet sky,  
I could be hurtful,  
I could be purple,  
I could be anything you like.  
Gotta be green,  
Gotta be mean,  
Gotta be everything more.  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you like me?  
Why don't you walk out the door?"**

**"Grace Kelly" by Mika**

.Quirinus Quirrell.

I pressed my ex-turban to the wound on my shoulder, stanching the blood flow. The damned dragon! Dumbledore never mentioned any bloody dragons! Why would there be a dragon anyway? It was a good defensive measure, sure, but it was illegal. Unless he'd gotten permission? But no one would give permission for someone, not even Dumbledore, to have a dragon in a school.

_'Use the mirror. It must show where the Stone lies!' _My master snapped at me. And, indeed, there was a full length mirror before me. I walked up to it, thinking only of the Philosopher's Stone, and my master's wishes. My eyes snapped onto it, and I saw myself holding the Stone. I watched, transfixed, as I turned on my heel and walked to the left the mirror seeming to move along as the backdrop changed. I stood before my master in all his glory and I held the stone out before me, holding it in offering...

And then it stopped. Just as my master would have touched the Stone, the image just winked out. There was nothing there. I wasn't even there. My master appeared a moment later, walking through the scene, looking around. He picked the Stone from its place on the ground and scowled. I looked, but there was no Stone there, just the floor.

Why had my image changed so quickly? I gave my master the stone, and suddenly I was gone! Was it a message? Or perhaps I had many desires. Yes, the Dark Lord wouldn't forsake me just because he had his body back after he used the Stone! There would be no reason. I was his most faithful after all. No one else would have taken him, or rather, they couldn't have, and they wouldn't have been able to do as well! There _was_no good and evil after all, and yet the Death Eaters didn't recognize this. There was only power, and these tasks took them, as well as Dumbledore's trust, which I had.

No, there was no need for worry. I was Master's favorite after all. I was the only one who could get the Philosopher's Stone.

_'Let me look you buffoon!'_ Came the hiss from the back of my head. I turned around, letting him look into the mirror. I was facing the door, and there was something there. A figure walked calmly through the flames, a small figure. A first year with ebony hair and emerald eyes, and he didn't look at all surprised to see me. Still, it could be a trick.

"Potter," I scowled. "Surprised that it was me?"

"Not in particular," The boy shrugged. "Evening Voldemort."

Silence a moment. How could he know about that? My Lord dragged my head around, hard, and I can only imagine he was looking at the boy.

_'Leave, Potter, unless it is your wish to die?'_

"Again, not in particular," He shrugged, walking into position before the mirror. Faced with the Dark Lord, and yet he was nonchalant about it! The fool. "Interesting, isn't it? One of his better ideas, Dumbledore's own admission you know. The Mirror of Erised, 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'... I always wondered why, if it's in mirror writing, the letters are normal... I'll look it up later I guess." He just kept walking towards my master, I could see in the reflection. He didn't seem eleven at all. "An object of legend hiding another in a school full of children to act as _bait_ for the current Dark Lord. People are right when they say the man is batty."

A dark chuckle flew from the small gap made in the back of my head. _'He always was. Ever since his sister.'_

"You actually _know_ about that?" Potter, for the first time, seemed surprised. He was never surprised, and yet he was. Of course, my master was very surprising often enough. He never desired to be common place though, of course he didn't! He was the Dark Lord, and Potter could do nothing to keep up with him. The boy was, after all, only eleven. "Surprising. He kept it secret, from what I know, excepting a select few. Is it common knowledge here then?"

_Here?_ I wondered. I didn't voice it, I didn't dare butt into my master's conversation.

_'Only a few know, but I dare say we are done with the idle banter. I tire,' _My master hissed. My head relaxed into position again. _'Use him.'_

"Yes my Lord," I raised my wand, and before the boy could move, I had him bound. "What? You were expecting some grand duel between good and evil?" The look on the small boy's face said just that. "There is no good and evil, only-"

"Only power and those too weak to seek it, I've got that already," The small one before me rolled his eyes. "Or those given divine preference and those not. It's all dependent upon your personality."

"You will stand," I waved my wand in a quick movement, silently, and he stood. "You will look into the mirror and tell me what you see. If my master does not approve, you will not live to know his reign." I twitched my wand and he glided in front of me, to gaze into the mirror.

_'What do you see, boy?' _My master asked. His tone was almost desperate... but no. He couldn't be desperate. He was the most powerful Dark Lord since Salazar Slytherin himself.

"I'm all grown up," the boy murmured, his back turned to me. "Probably twenty something... and next to me is a grown up Ginny Weasley, and a little boy with neon green hair, about 6 or seven years old. Ginny is holding a little baby boy with my hair... but more the color of Charlus', and he has Ginny's eyes: hazel with a little ring of blue. My family is all around me too, and my friends, and we're all adults. It's peaceful, as if there never was a Voldemort, or any wars, and even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are there with Dudley and his wife. It's like... the entire world is happy for once, and there's no one trying to destroy it, no wars from muggle or magical people. Even the hole in the O-Zone layer is gone..."

He continued on, describing a world without any imperfections, moving out from his personal perfect life, going to the world at large, and everything was just love and happiness. I couldn't move through his description. It kept going, and I continued to be drawn in, listening to his description of Eden, even as my master reviled it.

_That's how I want to live,_ I realized. At first, when I heard him, I thought he was relaying his childish dreams and crushes, but he was going into everything, where muggles and magical people lived together and my Master wasn't there to torture and kill. _My master..._ The words scalded my mind, and had I spoken them, I knew they would make me want to gag. Why was he master? Without him, the world would be so much better!

_'What is this you're thinking, my servant? Betrayal?'_ A shiver ran down my back as a loud voice sounded from the direction my master (_No,_I reprimanded myself, _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_.) was facing. I sighed as a blankness filled me; not one of possession, but of sweet, untainted unconsciousness.

* * *

.Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. 

Warning bells went off in my head. Someone was in the room containing the Mirror of Erised.

"I'm afraid that I must cut off our meeting early," I said, standing in the middle of Augusta Longbottom's bringing up of the issue of dealing with a new Azkaban inmate. "It would seem something is going on at the school that demands my immediate attention, and I must attend to it before it becomes hazardous to the students. I hope you understand. The rest of the meeting will be postponed until next Friday, same time and place of course. Good day to you all."

I turned on my heel and apparated to the Ministry floo-chambers off of the Grand Chamber before any other members of the Wizengamot could respond, flooing into my office. I was out onto the proper floor within a moment, and running as fast as I could to the third floor. It took thirty minutes total to get from the meeting through the Troll room, but the instant I entered the Potion's Chamber I had to put up a shield as a Full Body-Bind came from the corner. It was exemplary, although I wouldn't say so, as I was rather miffed at the smaller of the Potter sons standing from behind the table with a relieved look.

"Thank Merlin you're here Professor!" spouted Charlus as he sprang up. "Harry went in after Quirrell – he mentioned something about a Prophecy keeping him safe – and neither of them have come out! I heard a lot of talking coming through – I couldn't hear the words – but most of it seems to be Harry, and some in this really high voice! But it sounded kinda weak... And since the potions reshuffled themselves I didn't want to risk poisoning myself, so I had to wait. Hermione was supposed to go get you around now though..."

"Ms. Granger has been sent along to alert Madam Pomfrey that I would be bringing your brother up soon," I sighed, deciding not to lie to the boy. "Take this potion and follow. I'm not sure if your brother can still be alive or if he can be saved, and you need to alert your parents and godparents to what has happened. Flooing the Minister would also help some, I'm sure."

I handed him the second to largest phial after a quick glance at the clue sheet (which had indeed changed) and took one a simple square shape for myself, downing it in a gulp and retreating without bothering to see if the younger Potter was following my direction. Harry was through there. Harry could be killed only by Voldemort, and if Quirrell managed to bring him to the spirit in question, then Harry could die, and then Voldemort couldn't. There wasn't much I could do about it if Quirrell did get him, I could only hope that Voldemort had passed on his penchant for monologuing to his current star-grunt.

The flames gave way to the Chamber, and I was surprised to see Harry standing before the mirror, with a look of utter peace on his reflection. Quirrell stood behind him, seeming to be in a state of bliss, but it was the back of the man's head that caught my attention. A face much like that of Voldemort's after his fall – though more serpentine – was sticking out the back of his head, writhing in anger.

_'What is this you're thinking, my servant? Betrayal?' _Voldemort howled. Quirrell's body winced. I raised my wand and stunned him just as the spirit flew from his head at me in a rage. The spirit had no power, however, and seemed to blow away a foot out from the body as my stunner passed through it. Harry turned.

"Professor Dumbledore! When did you get here?" Harry asked curiously. "What happened to Quirrell? He put me in front of the mirror, and I told him what I saw... I figured he would shove me over and I would stun him from behind later or something while he kept seeing himself giving the Stone to Lord Voldemort over and over... where'd he go anyway?"

The boy was shocked. He was looking at his professor, seeing the man without the shadow on his face, and obviously wasn't sticking out the back of his head any longer, both he and I could see the back of the Professor's skull.

"I am not quite sure. Come, we must get him to the Hospital Wing. We can question him in there," I said, testing the boy. He didn't question my decision, except to suggest I bind the man before transporting him to keep him from escaping "just in case". He wasn't adverse to interrogating his Professor, stopping the man, no longer even possessed, from leaving without my say so. Either the boy was very trusting of me, or perhaps he was already mentally preparing himself for his destiny... which he knew nothing about. All I'd told him of the prophecy was that it meant Voldemort couldn't harm him until he had his own body, as was implied by the line about neither living while the other survived, and, for the moment, Harry was living his life, and Voldemort could not, truly, be considered even surviving.

The only bit of my logic the boy questioned was why, despite knowing, had I let Voldemort go gallivanting around the school and baiting him with the Stone. I didn't tell him of course. He didn't ask anything else, but he did seem miffed that I would let the Dark Lord wander around a castle full of children. He was a bit arrogant about being able to take him, but that was just the innate sureness of all children, nothing more.

Indeed, a job well done.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

It was amazing. Professor Quirrell was alive, and generally confused. He was neither stuttering, nor evil it seemed. After a thorough legilimancy search (through both myself and Dumbledore, though he didn't know that) it was found that he had been under a heavy compulsion, and hearing something other than hatred and loathing and power etc etc basically snapped him out of it.

Dumbledore always did say that love would conquer Voldemort. It just hadn't ever actually worked before now.

At the school year's end, Gryffindor lost to Slytherin, fair and square, even after the extra points. Charlus gained just as many as I did for the "tag team chess match" and his not getting cold feet in the face of such unknown danger as he could have been faced with an irate, potentially murderous person, and he stood his ground to be ready for the rescue. And, since Norberta had been his idea, he got some more points for that. I was a bit jealous about that, but it made sense. And Hagrid now actually got to visit his dragon every weekend to keep her calm, so all was well.

Everyone got their share of points, their share of doom and gloom. Unfortunately, Pomfrey was worried about the rope burns on my arms and a couple of broken carpals, so I was away from Quidditch for the day. Let's just say that Lee Jordan couldn't beat a blind person to the snitch that was riding a Shooting Star. And had no hands. And was also a muggle. In other words, Lee Jordan is the worst seeker on the face of the earth, but somehow better than most of Gryffindor. Which was pathetic.

School came to a close, and Charlus and I were grounded for a week because of us getting into such danger when we could have gone to a teacher. Except we couldn't go to a teacher, and we had tried, because who would believe a small posse of 11 year olds over a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor? Of course, the fact that this Professor was going to continue on to next year (after spending a month in Azkaban for needless endangerment of minors charges) meant that he was immediately a favorite professor. After all, he had to be pretty good to break the curse... well, I did too, but nothing even happened that first year, so it hadn't mattered.

I could only imagine how (or even if) this would affect the events of the next year. And affect they did.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I would like to point out, firstly, that in chapter 4 I never once mentioned what flames someone went through. I also never said how canonical this would be, after all, it is AU. So, no dead Quirrell means no Lockhart, no Lockhart means... well, no annoying blonde fucktard... course, there's going to be Lockhart anyway, but mreh. And thus was the curse of the DADA professor broken! (In my version of canon where Harry is from, Harry breaks it, and makes it through a year and a month (as about a month into school he was transported to my universe... of death). Basically, Harry graduated from the Auror Academy, came to Hogwarts to break the DADA curse, and was going to go back to active duty next year, except a month into his second year teaching he was zapped away while his son was being born... though no one knows exactly how). 

Mostly, I just really didn't want to write Lockhart, not canon Lockhart. Everyone does it wrong anyway. He's always either too smarmy, not smarmy enough, or a pedophile, so I've decided to just remake him. My Lockhart will still be a smarmy, vain git, but he'll be a smarmy, vain git that earned it all. It's explained more in chap. 7 author's note, I assure you.

Next, I would like to note that this is, officially, the fifth chapter. Booyah.

I will now explain why I chose "Grace Kelly" by Mika for my quote. So, here we go! When I first started the chapter, I was going to call it "purple", which made me think of that song. Needless to say, the title did _not_ stick. However, I kept the title about Quirrell and the song remains. Okay, so Quirrell is "identity mad" because, hey, guess what? He has someone sticking out the back of his head. By taking Voldy-poo on (sorry Kia, but your moniker is perfect for him!) he changed his entire identity (which is what the song is about) and he is now coming to realize that something was done to him.

And yes, I did put Dumbledore's full name up just to annoy you, thanks. Also, I find it entertaining.

Next chapter: The summer preceding Year Two! From Charlus' perspective of course. After that I'll do the later bit of the summer and the first part of the year from several non-Charlus POVs (including the first Hannah spot!). Includes Charlus and Harry starting up again and lots of doom. Huzzah.


	7. A Dystopia Known As Summer

**Pre A/n: Don't stop reading because of the third section. I never did say what, exactly, was going on there. You'll find out in quite a few chapters what the heck is up with it. Just trust me when I say it is plot important and may be construed in several different ways. It's not just a "hey, let's make Chaz as emo as possible!" thing.  
**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 6**

**A Dystopia Known as Summer**

**"Anger is just a cowardly extension of sadness. It's a lot easier to be angry at someone than it is to tell them you're hurt."**

**Tom Gates**

.Charlus Potter.

Summer, the too hot, too dry, too boring part of the year. True, it gives one limitless free time, and that starts out fun, but what happens when you run out of things to do? For Harry and me, it takes about a week before we start lazing about staring at the ceiling, with nothing to do except hope beyond hope that we'll get to do something after exhausting our lengthy summer to do list.

This year, however, Uncle Sirius "let slip" that, as the Potter manor was heavily warded, and because we were almost always around magical people anyway, that we could get away with underage magic at home. The Trace would pick up spells, but, as we were children of magical people, it wouldn't be really noticed, because it picked up when an adult did magic within twenty feet of us as well. No one could really tell if it was a child or adult, so wizarding kids got the easy off.

"That's hardly fair," Hermione said when she came over during the second week. "I mean, wizarding children can do magic out of school, and muggleborns can't? Why don't they just restrict us to certain spells? Like 'only charms and transfigurations are allowed to be used outside of school', so they don't have to worry about us hexing anyone, and we can actually _prove_ we learned something to our parents."

"It'd be better, yeah, but while Lucius Malfoy has the Minister's ear, it's not going to happen," I agreed as I stepped slightly to the side. We were all practicing the very first spells we were to learn in the upcoming year. Since the spells would be registering on four different traces at once, there was no worry about the Ministry prosecuting Hermione. "Rictumsempra!"

The beam of purple light flew from my wand and hit Ron in the stomach, and he fell over giggling and squirming. While Harry had invited Ron over, I had asked Hermione. Neville was (apparently) hanging out with cousins in Scotland, and Hannah was on holiday in France, so I invited Hermione. I would have invited her before Hannah anyway, but I rather wished Hermione had partnered with Ron. He deserved everything she threw at him.

"Finite Incantatem," Harry swished his wand lazily at Ron, then turned to the conversation. "It can't be helped. Nothing we can do anyway."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Ron spouted as soon as he was on his feet.

"Contego! Oh?" I shielded against Ron's charm and looked to Harry. "What about your political pull, Oh Great Boy-Whose-Name-Is-Hyphenated?" Hermione giggled at the statement, sidestepping Harry's charm as it came at her. "Surely you must be able to advocate for muggleborn rights?"

"I wish," Harry tried to hit Hermione again, but she shielded. "As far as politics are concerned, I'm a figure head. No one will take an eleven year old seriously, even if he's got a wicked scar like mine."

"Rictumsempra!" This time, Ron's spell hit my straight in the gut and I keeled over, squirming. "AI! Help... I can't... breathe!"

"Can't breathe?" Hermione chuckled. "What's with all the huffing and puffing then?"

Tears were streaming from my eyes as I screamed from the unfortunate agony of tickling charms. My vision was a bit spotty, and my breath barely wheezed out. By the time anyone had the foresight to take the charm off, I was having a full blown asthma attack, and my vision went black.

* * *

Almost three weeks later, at Neville's birthday party, Harry was still feeling guilty over forgetting about my asthma and not releasing me from the charm. I felt he was guilty too, really. Only family (and Neville) knew about it, and he let the tickler continue until I really couldn't breathe and revealed my condition to two people. I didn't really mind that Hermione knew, but I was rather miffed about Ron. Harry _knew_ that Ron and I don't get along well, that I found him to be annoying and a bit stuck up, and yet he let Ron know my one big weakness. I was unhappy to say the least.

At said birthday party, I was hanging out with Neville a lot, obviously, though, as it _was_ his party, I didn't monopolize him. When not with Neville, I was with Hermione, and, on occasion, Hannah, when Hermione was drawn off by Harry or someone else (though usually Harry) for one reason or another.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Ne-ev, happy birthday to you," I sang when he sat before his cake. Most people said "Neville" of course, but where was the fun in that, really?

During the eating of the confection, Neville and I talked constantly. His attention was grabbed every so often by other people, but we did talk for a while. It was odd, I swear, being like this. I realized about then how completely dependent I was on my friends. I felt like some muggle school girl, chock full of insecurities, unsure if my fiends really liked me, or maybe took pity on me for being a friendless Slytherin. Harry and I didn't get any post up to this point, and yet Harry didn't care.

Was he stronger than me? Did he not have such a dependency on his friends sending him letters every off day that it really didn't matter to him? I never asked anyone why they didn't owl me, I never mentioned it to Harry either, but I knew he wasn't getting any owls.

But I was weak, completely dependent on other people. I depended on my Mum and Dad for love, financial support, food, and a roof over my head. I depended on my brother (though I hated to admit it) for a small sense of rivalry, even if he did out streak me in everything (except Keeping of course). I depended on Hogwarts, my friends, and class work of all things to keep me sane.

"Knut for your thoughts?" I jumped at the question and whirled around to Neville. "Come on Charlie, quit moping an talk! We have half an hour before my parents will let us swim anyway." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, so you want to drown because of a stupid cramp, do you?" A smile played across my lips as I said this. "Honestly Nev, you have a million party games, and you can't wait half an hour to jump into a pool. How old are you today then? Eight?"

"Twelve, thanks," Neville rolled his eyes, but pulled me from the table. "Let's go grab the Quid board then or something."

I perked up immediately at this of course. Quid was similar to Quidditch, except it was also like chess, and a bit like checkers as well, with a bit of Uno and rock-paper-scissors tossed in for good measure. There were seven controllable pieces for each player, the chasers, seeker, keeper, and beaters, one that moved in accordance with the players, the quaffle, and three that couldn't be controlled usually, the bludgers and snitch. To move, you drew three cards, each with a number on it, and use a card to move a piece. Per turn, a piece could only be moved by one card. Between turns, the bludgers and snitch would move as they wished, or, in the case of the snitch, appear and disappear to different parts of the board.

For a chaser to take a shot, they had to be in the corner, and then the person controlling the chaser would tell the piece which hoop to go for at the same time that the other controlling player told their keeper which hoop to block. Whether or not the players listened tended to be a problem. If a bludger targeted a player between turns, they had the chance to dodge, but it was difficult, because the bludger hopped over a player just like a checker piece, and they player had to dodge at the right time to avoid injury.

All of these elements, plus basic rules from all four games, made this the most popular board game in the wizarding world. Unfortunately, it wasn't allowed at Hogwarts, unless it was to map out plays for a game, and even that was monitored, because it was a horrid distraction from school work that could take as long to play as Monopoly. Sometimes longer.

However, during the game, I neglected my seeker's position, putting him too far into the North corner, and as Neville's had the central position, and he got just the right card, he'd beaten me in an hour, 290 points to my 230. I'd been trouncing him, but I paid too much attention to knocking his players away and stacking on my points instead of positioning my seeker. The game was amazing, but I wasn't good enough at multitasking.

All that day, we played games, had fun. I mulled over my feelings of inadequacy, and decided it wasn't real, that I was just paranoid. My fiends liked me, and we saw each other often. It didn't matter that they weren't writing me, because we were friends, and we stood together. My brother wasn't any stronger than me, he just understood that first. That was all.

I just never thought that the last happy day for the summer would be my friend's birthday celebration, and not my own.

* * *

And it was. Neville's birthday, just one day before mine, was the last of the happy days that summer. It was then that I started ruing birthdays, fearing something like it would happen all over again. I withdrew, more than I ever had in first year, starting that day. I suppose that's what started the chain of events for second year. If this hadn't of happened, I would have maybe retained my illusions of self-strength I'd gained the day before. I would have been just a bit more normal... but Fate, as always in the case of the Potter clan, had very much different ideas.

Mum was gone. The last time I saw her, for a long time, was the night preceding my birthday, when Harry and I were to have a celebration every bit as large as Neville's. She had tucked me in, kissed my forehead, and old me she loved me. The usual night time routine, I never thought to make anything else of it. I had replied that I loved her too, but reflexively. I don't know how much I meant it, because I just wanted to sleep, for it to become tomorrow. The last thing she said to me was that I was not to stay up like I was wont to do, because the sooner I slept the sooner it would be tomorrow. She might have known my thought pattern, but I didn't note it much. I grunted noncommittally, and rolled onto my side to sleep. I didn't think anything of what she said or did, but maybe I should have. Maybe I could have relished my last night with a mother.

When I awoke on July 31st, 1992, to Harry's jovial alarm clock that he had brought through our shared bathroom to wake me, I noticed it immediately. The house was silent, and yet Mum should have been awake. Mum was always up first, especially on Harry's and my birthday, helping the house elves – for we had three, Bippy, Spring, and May-Bell – making breakfast, because she didn't want to "get rusty" in the culinary arts. But there was nothing.

She should have been just down the stairs outside me door, in the kitchen, with a loud muggle record – playing Duran Duran or the Cure, maybe just Bach is she didn't want to jar us awake – singing off tune in the kitchen cooking bacon, charming the air to carry the scent all the way to us so we would hurry to get ready.

And she wasn't there. I knew, because there was no noise outside Harry and I. We had dressed, descending the steps, starting to hear the clangs of pots and pans, but no music, no singing. She wasn't telling us to hurry up, as she always did, knowing when we had risen, and sticking her head out the doorway with a smile, greeting us with a "Happy Birthday" and a kiss on the forehead each. The doorway, and indeed the kitchen itself, was devoid of human life, carrying only the house elves themselves as they floated about the stoves, both magical and muggle, to make the birthday breakfast that Mum always would, animal-shaped chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes. She just... wasn't there.

We checked our parents' room too, but neither was present. It wasn't until we came to the parlor in our search, and passed under the threshold that we found any inkling of human life. Dad was asleep on the couch, bags under his eyes, the entire area around each rubbed raw, as if he'd been crying.

But that wasn't right. He hadn't just been crying. He looked like the living dead, sobbing on occasion in his sleep, and hiccoughing every other breath. I could only look on, but Harry walked calmly over to the fireplace and flooed Sirius and Remus so they could help. Was there even anything to help? I didn't know then, and now that I think back, I don't think that what it was could be helped. It was just so out of the norm, to see my dad like this, not knowing what to do, not having Mum to help, because she wasn't in the house.

When Sirius and Remus came through, they seemed to know what happened. I don't know how, but they knew where to look for the secret to our missing mother. A piece of parchment was in Dad's pajama shirt pocket, and they pulled it out, skimmed it over, and handed it first to Harry, whose face took on a determined cast while he read, before I got my hands on it. I choked at first sight.

_'Dear, well, everyone I suppose,_

_I'm sorry I've done this, but it was the only way. I'm leaving, and if any of you see me again, or vice a versa, I'm afraid it may be too soon. I can't handle it any more! Life as not only a witch, but a Potter, had become too much for me. I should never have gone to Hogwarts, now I think on it, so I could have kept my sister, and she wouldn't have been a target._

_We are all targets, this entire family, and I can't stand it. This last year at Hogwarts for the boys has shown me that. I know I could never keep you two from going. Legally, yes, but James wouldn't stand for it, and neither of you could really forgive me for that, could you? Everything just turned topsy turvy when I had you two. We were attacked by Voldemort because of when you were born, and nothing else, and yet you lived, and the Wizarding World couldn't help but butt into our lives._

_And after all of that, this family can't seem to keep from danger. The troll on Halloween, and my sister's family being slaughtered on New Year's Eve. I know it's no coincidence that it happened on Voldemort's birthday. And on June 15__th__, the day when Voldemort is most active every year, my son's, you boys, you confronted Voldemort himself._

_I can't take it any longer! Being a witch has caused nothing but mayhem for me. I'm not coming back, and I'm just going to resume life where I left it, as a muggle. I won't see any of you again, and for that I'm not sorry. I'm tired of not knowing that my family will survive, and I am cutting ties... and hopefully this will make me no longer care. I can't stand to care anymore._

_But Gods, I hope you can forgive me. James, find a new wife, maybe with brown hair and blue eyes, a nice temperament, who will bear you a daughter like you always suggested. I'm sorry I couldn't give you that, but two boys did enough damage for me._

_Harry, live your life out of the spotlight. You need to keep living. My mother didn't give her life to you so that you lay about and mope for the rest of your life. Don't sully that memory, and please, PLEASE, just keep safe._

_And Charlus, my little angel, Chaz. Keep them sane for me. You always were the quiet one, the reasonable one. You've always been the one who would remain sanest now, I know it. You're the level-headed one in our family, and you need to stop your father from despairing, your brother from going over the edge. Please help them remember to be alive, to not regret, because it wasn't their fault._

_I love you all, and I hope you can take my words to heart,_

_Lily Evans-Potter, Mum, Charms Mistress, Newly Instated Muggle'_

I fell to my knees then. It wasn't their fault. Not Harry's, not Dad's. Did that mean it was mine? Voldemort was coming after me too after all, and the Troll incident... Mum thought that was my fault too, didn't she? And I was involved, oh Merlin was I involved in the Philosopher's Stone escapade! Of course it wasn't their faults, was it? It was mine, Mum was always worried about me. She knew Dad and Harry could handle themselves, but she knew I couldn't, didn't she? Here I was, a newly twelve year old boy, and I was... weak.

Was I angry at her? I think so, for leaving us. Harry and I sent out owls to those invited to our party, informing them that we were undergoing a family crisis and the party was cancelled. Well, all I did was sign when Harry told me. I was on what Mum always had called "auto-pilot" as if I was a robot, or another sort of machine. But I knew I was to blame. She only said it wasn't their faults. They must have known, then, that it was mine.

It wasn't until noon that Dad woke, but he didn't speak. All he did was get up, walk into the kitchen, and grab a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey before retreating to the parlor again, where our Uncles, Moony and Padfoot, were trying to comfort him. From the drunken yelling and sobs that ensued intermittently, it wasn't working.

For the next two weeks, everything passed in only one way, with hardly any variation.

Dad holed up in a different room every day, drowning his sorrow in Firewhiskey, sometimes Dragon's Brand if he had taken a dive into his pensieve. Sirius came daily, though Uncle Moony couldn't, as he was looking after Aunty Rainbow (better known as Tonks, though after the wedding it didn't really work) and Selena, though her first name was actually Emmalie, his four month old daughter. Dad would just hole up with whichever friend was there and tell them his sorrows under a privacy ward, so that Harry and I couldn't hear, though we knew anyway.

Harry... it was like nothing even happened to him. Sure, he was sad, but he acted as if he wasn't unused to it! If anyone had looked at him, no one would suspect that his mother had been taken from him, or at least that he was already accustomed to it. He was completely normal, playing chess against himself, and losing spectacularly (if such a thing was possible to do, though he was horrid at the game, so it wasn't too hard to imagine). He got up every morning, helped the house elves make breakfast (and I had seen him at it, though when he had learned to cook was beyond me, as he had never shown any interest until then), and went about a routine, going to sleep at a normal hour. He never once shed a tear.

But me? I was weak. I left my room for meals, occasionally to read, to lose myself as I had trained myself all the last year. It was hard. I didn't have to think about how I'd driven my own mother away, I just existed. I couldn't be happy, not after what had happened, but I wasn't as morose any longer. I didn't have to cry in a toilet stall to release my sadness.

At least, that's what I thought. I know now that this mindset was counterproductive on all fronts, but I was gullible, and by body was telling me that I wasn't hurt. I believed it.

We had to leave the house one day though, two weeks later, and I was forced into the sunlight for the first time in days. It was a shopping trip that ruined my life, I think, and it was horrible.

* * *

August the 14th fell upon us like an anvil. The sun was shining, the birds singing, and Sirius decided it was time Harry and I go to get our things for the up and coming year. He just came, out of the blue that morning, and told us to get into some summer robes and grab our money bags. He handed us the keys to our trust vaults and shoved us into the floo in front of him, and dragged us out of the Leaky Cauldron before anyone could cause a fuss over Harry.

Our Uncle Padfoot, Harry's Godfather. He took care of us during that time, when Dad was too pissed to function. He made sure that we weren't just holing up, he did everything. He had us fitted for new robes, made sure we were completely restocked (and then some) for the year's Potions. He took care of everything, and I was too sad to even mutter a thank you. It should have been Mum and Dad taking us shopping for our second year, healing a skinned knee or something when we tripped in middle of the Alley. It should have been them to buy me a new broomstick now I could actually bring one to school.

And yet he did both of these things. He took care of the bump I got when I got knocked over between the Apothecary and Flourish and Blotts. He bought us each a Nimbus 2001 for our birthdays while we were there, though straying to the less sinister Mahogany model instead of the fiendish Ebony. He did everything but one thing.

He didn't protect me from fate... or Lucius Malfoy if that's what you want to call the ordeal.

Sirius was at the counter, paying for the books, an Harry had spotted Ernie in the Herbology section. I waited silently for us to leave, near the stairs to the second level, but I was pushed over. I stood, looking for the culprit, only to find Draco Malfoy in front of me.

"Oops, thought you were Scar-head," he shrugged, as if he'd done nothing wrong. I rolled my eyes, picking my bags back up. The clothing bag from Madam Malkins' seemed a bit heavier, but I hardly took notice, because my eyes latched onto a figure just behind me.

"Mr. Malfoy, Draco," I murmured, a bit scared. "Erm, can I help you?" They were not who I wanted to see. Draco was neutral towards me. I was a Potter, a member of a Light family, but I was a Slytherin, and one who had won us the house cup for the eighth year running. Lucius Malfoy had this look about him though, hawkish, but not in the way of Madam Hooch. He was looking at me like I was prey, a thing to be taken and eaten. It creeped me out, and I was in a delicate enough mood without the intimidation tactics.

"Not at all," The blonde aristocrat replied airily. "I just wanted to be sure you were alright Mr. Potter. It wouldn't do for a Slytherin to fall flat on his face, with no one to care, hm?"

He was pushing my buttons, and I knew it, even then. He wanted me to snap back, that I did have friends, that I didn't care what he said or thought or did. He wanted me to act the Gryffindor that my brother undoubtedly was, that everyone in my family was.

But he was too late for that response. Two weeks alone, in my miserable, moping state was enough to convince me that he was right. I wasn't worth it after all. I was just a lowdown, no good, second year. My family didn't like me. I was driving them away, one by one, and he couldn't really do anything to drive that in anymore. I had no one to help me off the ground, and I knew it, they knew it.

"Chaz!" I turned my head once more, looking away from both Malfoys now, as they had converged. Sirius was walking forward, holding the bags of books. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back and away from the Slytherins before me. "It's time we got going home. Lucius, Draco, I'm sure you can understand."

We left without a response, retrieving Harry before we fled the building and flooed to the house. It wasn't until I was in my room that I found a small black book with the emblazoned gold name "T. M. Riddle" resting in my clothes bag.

**

* * *

**

Author's Note: Yes! He has the diary. The question is, what happens now? Does he write? (Do I even need to ask that?) Does Harry find out? Will someone find out before Harry, perhaps? And what about the basilisk? Are there any killings coming up sometime soon?

Okay, the asthma bit is important in chapter 11... well, not really, but actually more later beyond there, just so you know. It wasn't just a demonic insert of death. Chaz takes a magic medication for it aside from an inhaler, but he does have one in case he forgets to take said meds. It won't be cropping up much, but it does every so often. Quid was just a fun little idea, and the game really isn't important... but I wanted to juxtapose Neville's birthday and his, so there you are.

I will say nothing about Lily being gone except to think outside the box. There are several possibilities to ponder. Was it written under duress? Forged? Or did she really write it? Perhaps a hidden message in the note? Did you actually just scroll up there to see if I made a secret message for it? Muhaha... or maybe something else! Heh. This actually won't come into play for a while, but bear with me, yeah?

Aside from that... what else is there to say? Charlus was picked because he was besmirching the Slytherin name. Draco is a mini-buttwipe still, but there haven't been any confrontations between him and Harry.(Aside from the Remembrall incident... did I mention how that went down? If not, it was like this: Neville got knocked off, Charlus went with him to the hospital wing, and Harry got the Remembrall back, earning him the seeker position. I didn't bother to write it because I DIDN'T WANT TO! And I hate how people always make a big deal of it like "oh noes, Nev still got hurted! I guess fate won't let me change time! Aaaaahhhh!")

Posted Early due to schedule conflicts.


	8. Into Twilight

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 7**

**Into Twilight**

**"Death is not the greatest of evils; it is worse to want to die and not be able to."**

**Sophocles**

.Hannah Abbott.

Summer. A time of well mannered frivolity and reunion. It is a time in which life changes. It is innocence, and often portrayed just so. As with the Cycle of Redemption, summer is purity, the lack of knowledge of the evils in our world. It is in summer when life and love are full. After is autumn, the Fall from Innocence. This is when the knowledge comes, the bad happens. Winter comes soon after, icy and hard, bitter. Only in Spring can come forgiveness for what has happened, and wisdom. When again it is summer, there is compassion, but never innocence. To be naive is only a one time thing, and so each summer, each cycle, is different.

It was one year before then that everything began to change. I found out that I was a witch! I began Hogwarts, one of the luckier ones I think now, as I didn't come from a "good Christian family" that would have been horrified about having the devil in their home. Not like Dean Thomas for example, who had to go live with his friend Seamus as soon as he started up. No, my family embraced that I had magic! They were fascinated, and so was I.

So, I went to Hogwarts. In that magical place that purebloods and half bloods alike took for granted, I a "muggle born" student truly embraced all there was to know about it. True, I was in the habit of ignoring others at first, in my complete absorption of all things magical. My sole friend at the beginning, Hermione, worried over another friend, Charlus, or Chaz as I call him. He was saddened, by everything about him, at the time. His father sent howlers, and he so feared his mother's soft fury, disappointment, that not once could he bear to look to her for comfort. His twin made it worse, throwing it in his face that he, Harry, was in Gryffindor, in the family's good graces, while Chaz was a member of the most hated and put upon group in the school, even unwillingly.

If compared, our lives were on whole other levels. My family had no prejudice, my house no boundaries. His family hated where he was, his house hated where he'd come from. His aunt, uncle, and cousin died, and I had a perfectly normal day, except for giving magic sweets to my older brother. He waited, not knowing who or what could possibly be coming for him, and I? I stayed with a dragon that would defend me. His year was hard, and the road of mine pre-paved.

Back then I feared that perhaps Harry was right about Chaz, and I kept my distance, though he won me over in the end. I think, perhaps, that my fears were really premonition of what he would become so soon.

Perhaps, it was ominous. In the wizarding world, people hardly batted an eyelash to such things. It had become common place, to lose one's family, and while condolences were offered, it wasn't quite the same. In the muggle world, anyone would have been appalled by what happened that year to him. Over the summer, I sent letter after letter, though he never replied. The few times we met in July, we talked, but never did he mention the letters, which were returned unopened, including those sent by muggle post, and neither did I.

His time of pain began on the last day of that month. He had no one, outside his family, to help him through. Perhaps, if I did, in fact, have a premonition, it was in reference to this time. Chaz's mother was gone, she had left, and after the start of last year we all worried how he might recoil into himself this time. The only word any of us received was, first, a missive stating a family emergency, written in Harry's hand, and that their birthday was cancelled, and second, one from their godfathers informing us of what happened and, when next we saw them, not to prod.

His fall, and winter, I think, came much too early, yet when I finally did see him again, even if it was for only a moment, he seemed... very much changed. Not as if he had accepted anything, more that, suddenly, he saw _other_, as a future friend of mine called it. He seemed unfocussed, watching everything from one step back, calculating everything without any intent to interfere... something was completely Slytherin about him, in no way I had seen before.

The year began like, I assume, any other ought to. I'm not really sure, because we never had a normal year out of our seven. Charlus was oft times seen writing in a black notebook with lined paper inside, when we weren't doing practical work. Sometimes even then, as he would write a moment, seem to space out, and a few minutes later perform the spell flawlessly on his first try. The method, though odd to all, was permitted.

It was a few weeks in before I thought to speak to him, and by then it was too late. I was leaving the kitchens, retrieving a bowl of fruit for Hermione to demonstrate Transfigurations with (an apple would have sufficed, but the House elves wouldn't hear of it), when I did see him.

And, rest assured, I didn't like what I saw. He stood at the end of the corridor before, twirling his wand in his hands, occasionally tossing it up and down. His posture was completely like him, the lazy smirk and half lidded eyes were positively unnerving as he stood there, leaning on the wall, watching me. I shuddered, averting my gaze...

But all I saw were great, yellow eyes reflected in the fruit bowl. Everything went black.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

Mum was gone. My mother, who I had been with for roughly a month and three weeks, that was how long I had been able to hug her. She left us. Because we, her family, were "too dangerous", because we drew trouble. Good on her, really. The first person to ever agree with me on the point that my life is too risky, and it's not worth it so risk their own life being on Voldemort's hit list just to get to know me. It still hurt that my Mum had left, but it meant she was safe.

Over the years, there had been a lot of other people I had tried to convince on this point, but my mum had figured it out all on her own... and left. Dad was a wreck, though being forced to go to a therapist for his problems instead of the liquor cabinet. Charlus was quiet, irritable, and snappish. Dad dealt by talking, whether he was inebriated or no, and Charlus with fury, later with utter calm. My twin was glowering again, like when I had first tried to talk to him (this was, admittedly, after I had insulted him, so glowering had been his right that time). He snapped at anyone who spoke to him, and just sitting so silently in the library or somewhere that you'd not realize he was even in the room.

Still, it was especially bad after the Diagon Alley trip. I think that was what had brought it home for him, going school shopping without mum while dad was home, drinking, and traveling down memory lane with Remus. He knew quite well that it was all wrong.

But I was all right, I suppose. Without growing up with a mother, I had barely lost anything, and began taking over several of her duties around the house, like helping the house elves with cooking (though they, in their own way, mourned her leaving, they were ecstatic to find that I could cook). I was the one to own the appropriate people to inform them of my father's condition and to set up his psychiatric appointments, even if I was _technically_ too young to do so. There was no one else for it after all.

Mum hardly knew me. I mean, sure, she knew Harry Potter, her son of this universe, but she didn't know me, Harry Potter, aged twenty three (well, twenty four and twelve the day she left), defeater of Voldemort and Head Boy. No, she knew her trouble making and peril attracting son, just not me. I hardly knew her either. She counted too much, however, on Charlus being his usual calm self about this whole thing, about him being able to see us through that time. In reality, he was the worst of all three of us. He couldn't even talk about her.

Life at Potter Manor was subdued all of August. We, that is to say, Sirius and the Potters, were all trying to recover, or in Sirius' case, helping the Patriarch to return to normalcy. Quite honestly, life was flipping backwards. I took my personal coping mechanism, cooking, and remembered my mother that way. In this world, I never had, as Charlus once mentioned, but I brushed it away. There was little else I could do.

Summer ended with little happening. I could only hope that Voldemort didn't have quite that same hold on Ginny just yet. We hadn't gone to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys, so I couldn't even try to prevent Lucius Malfoy from giving her the diary, but I was confident I could get the diary from her, one way or another, before Halloween. I should've known by then that me being confident meant that something was going to screw that up royally.

September the First arrived, cold and wet, and with high winds. It was so unlike the first time, but weather was not subject to fate like we mortals. The weather was a random thing, no matter how ominous it may seem, and for that I was. As we entered the Platform, I glad that Dobby had not tried to block our entry, though I was worried about the little guy. He'd been blocking Charlus' and my mail, sure, but he'd never come to try and convince us to not come... well, convince me to not come, but that would have included Charlus because, really, only send one twin?

Charlus hurried to the train after Sirius said his farewells, promising to look after Dad in our stead. I followed my brother, but lost him in the crowds, though I had figured out where he dropped his trunk, I didn't see him the entire trip. I tried to find him, at first, but eventually gave up and slipped into Ron's compartment with Terry and Ernie.

The ride itself was boring, as everyone recounted their summers. They were wary of me, because Remus had sent letters to them all of our family's plight, so for them to not be so crass about such things, or for Charlus and I to have to explain to our circles. There was logic in it, but they treated me like glass. I was mature, my mother unnecessary, and I was treated with kid's gloves.

After, I finally did see my brother. Sure, we didn't much act as such, but we were indeed family. As soon as I was off of the train, I had taken to Charlus' side.

"Charlie, hold up!" I shouted over the din of the crowd as I pushed towards him. I placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook me off. "Charlie, come on."

"So, I'm Charlie now am I?" He asked in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone. "I kind of figured I would never been deemed worthy to bear a nickname again by the oh-so-magnificent Boy-Who-Lived."

"Wha - ?" I was thrown for a loop by his cruel tone. He'd been relatively amiable to me since about May, what had I done to change it? "Charlie, I - "

"Just leave me a-bloody-lone!" It was a shout. Charlus, even tempered Charlus (despite being a bit moody, he was even tempered) had yelled at me to leave him be. He hadn't done that before. I mean, yeah, he'd yelled at Ron when he was being a prat and insulting Hermione, but not at _me_, not in pure anger like that!

I was too shocked to even try to follow him into his carriage. I walked to where Ron waved me, in a bit of a daze, but piled in with my friends.

"He was so angry," I murmured. "I don't think he was like that yesterday."

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Terry's voice floated from behind a book. "He's just moping. It's not like you two have never had a row before. There was that time three years ago, when you had a fight over who got more ho fudge syrup on their ice cream that was worse than this, right? He's just in a bit of a strop."

"I don't really recall that," I answered truthfully. "You remember the oddest things Terry... he just seems worse suddenly."

"Well, it would," Ron reasoned with a roll of his eyes. "After_your_ summer? I'd be in a right strop too! Scary and overbearing as my mum is, I'd never want her to leave, even if she _does_always forget I don't like corned beef, y'know?"

The glare I speared the red head with shut him up spectacularly. "Not. Helping."

* * *

The year's events began much ahead of schedule. Hannah Abbott was found petrified near the kitchens clutching a highly reflective bowl of fruit, san the fruit, which had scattered about the area when her near-stone body had fallen. That happened on September 23rd. She had to have seen the basilisk's gaze in the bowl, but I couldn't tell anyone, And at the time she was petrified, the second and fifth years (as well as any seventh years not in muggle studies, or sixth years not in Care of Magical Creatures) were having a free period, but the first years were in a potions lesson at the time. Ginny definitely didn't have the diary. 

Everything was up in the air. I knew that there was only one sign of being around a horcrux too long, irritability, but that wasn't terribly reliable at all. The search had been narrowed to half of the school, but as many of those students had OWLs or NEWTs to worry about, they would be very irritable.

There was no strong suspect either. No one had any ideas (aside from "Slytherins", but I was damn sure that Malfoy wouldn't incriminate his own house with such evidence). On the positive side, I wasn't being skirted in the halls, because I just _wasn't_ a suspect. It was impossible to guess at just who it was, but at the least this time I didn't have to worry about Draco Malfoy for anything. He was the Slytherin Seeker, and Charlus had made reserve Keeper, so he was further ostracized by other houses... but Malfoy was no worry. In fact, it seemed he was helping along Charlus' acceptance in the house, though Charlus still wasn't widely liked, being my brother, and "lion spawn".

Life at Hogwarts was swiftly becoming hectic, even only a month in. Students were to be escorted at all times, unless traveling in a group of ten or more, though a prefect was usually accompanying such groups anyway. Prefects on patrol did so with a teacher or the Head on duty that night. Everyone was told to keep an eye out for suspicious behavior... the problem was that no one was acting at all suspicious.

The only _true_ good around the castle was Professor Quirrell. After his possession ended, he had turned out to be a very capable and engaging professor, much to everyone's surprise, who had turned from his previous lectures of "Vampires are evil. You can ward them away by..." blah blah blah. That year he taught practically, teaching jinxes, hexes, blocking and disarming. He confided it probably wouldn't stop whatever ritual or creature was doing it, but the spells would be useful for most other times in life.

The school was in a right state, and it wasn't until October started up that it really went to Hell in a hamster ball.

"Students, I'm proud to say that we have managed to find an expert prepared to help us in our plight," Dumbledore proclaimed one night during dinner to the Hall. "It has been discerned that it is a dark creature of some sort that has petrified young Ms. Abbott, and we, the Hogwarts staff, have hired a man who has saved more people in such strife than any other in the magical world. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!"

And indeed he was. If the cheers of the school (in particular the female population) had not drowned it out, two loud, simultaneous thunks would have been heard on opposing sides of the Hall. Mum and Dad hated Lockhart (though I didn't know why, they had my full support in it!), so Charlus and I had hit our head against the hard oaken tables with zeal, most likely causing brain damage.

Hogwarts was a lot more annoying, and no one knew the truth of that except for me.

* * *

.Gilderoy Lockhart. 

"... Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!" Called out the old duffer, Dumbledore. Strode up through the Entrance Hall, smiling my million galleon smile. They were cheering, as always, for me. A young boy at the far right table (or was that left? Either way, it was Gryffindor) was clicking a camera like mad. My public adored me!

"Hello! Hello! Thee is no longer any need to fear, for I," at this I gave a magnificent bow and spun my wand, "am here. Anyone with information on the terrors stalking these halls had best tell me, though best wait until tomorrow when I'm settled. I'm sure that in no time at all we will have everything sorted, and the beast of Slytherin – not the students, I assure you! – taken to task!"

I had given a frantic reassurance that I meant no harm to my former house (not that I'd admit to it, mind you. In my autobiography,Creature Tails_(on sale at Flourish and Blotts for 13 sickles until Christmas!)_ I stated that I was a Gryffindor, and to that story I shall stick!). And the cheering continued.

"Mr. Lockhart will be set up in an office on the second floor, and anyone who knows anything pertinent to the situation is asked to give said information to him as soon as humanly possible!" Bellowed the headmaster over the din. I smirked inwardly, knowing the attention I could command with little more than a wink far surpassed anything he could get for all the shouting and fireworks in him. I knew how to play a crowd, something Albus Dumbledore had absolutely no skill in.

A week later, in a meeting with the Headmaster and staff, I was happy to reveal everything that I had dug up or deduced about the attack on the young Hufflepuff and what snooping students had managed to tell me.

"From what students have told me," I began, "there aren't really all that many clues. The girl was found with her arms and hands stretched before her, holding a silver fruit bowl and surrounded by the fruit that had fallen from the bowl. He eyes were locked onto the bowl, her expression neutral, which means that she was taken completely by surprise, no incantations or bite could have done this to her. Your earlier assessment about this being a creature is very much true.

"One student mentioned that there are no longer any spiders in that area, none at all, within a ten meter radius of where Ms. Abbott was located. They skirt the area, in a perfect orb, even going so far as to flee the sight as fast as possible until they are twenty meters away from this 'barrier'. And your Groundskeeper, Mr. Hagrid I believe? He informed me that his roosters are being killed. I would like to point out, now, that it obviously wasn't he who opened the 'Chamber of Secrets' the first time, as he was expelled for having an Acromantula in the school, which the spiders most certainly wouldn't be fleeing, and he wouldn't be killing off his own roosters.

"Anyway, from what I know, it seems almost impossible to believe that this attacker can be anything but a basilisk roaming your halls, and your infamous heir is killing the easiest means of getting rid of the bloody thing."

The teachers were silent. But, of course they would be. It was quite a revelation, finding out that one of the most deadly creatures in the world (ranked just under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) was roaming the school for _children._

"Are you completely sure about this?" Minerva McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House, asked, her face perilously pallid. "You truly think there is a _basilisk_ in Hogwarts?"

"Indeed I do," I replied evenly. "The evidence is all there. Spiders fear basilisks and the crowing of a rooster will kill one, Ms. Abbott didn't die because she saw the reflection of the Death Gaze in the fruit bowl. That is really only fit by a basilisk, unless you think a Jabberknoll would kill roosters _without_ eating it?"

"The situation is far graver than I thought," Albus Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his nose with a sigh. "I'm afraid we will have to send the students home if these attacks continue."

"If...? Dear God man! Are you insane?!" I snapped. "There is a_basilisk_ gallivanting through your castle, and you think it will _stop_ attacking students?!" The man was insane, it was obvious. A one thousand year old basilisk was terrorizing a school full of children – children! – whom he was charged to educate and protect, and he wanted to keep the school open!

"Albus, I must say I agree with Gilderoy," protested Minerva. "First and foremost, our duty at Hogwarts is to protect the students, not offer them up as bait and let them be petrified! As it is, Ms. Abbott will need to be held back a year without intensive home schooling after we can revive her! Do you really want that to happen to more students?"

"This conversation is closed Minerva," the old goat was on his feet, leaving the staffroom. "The students are not to know about the serpent." In a moment he was gone, but I jumped to my feet, furious.

"Madness," I growled, "I'm informing the Ministry _and_ the Board of Governors. These are the lives of children he's playing with!" I stormed to the fireplace. "If you lot have any minds of your own, you'll do similar." I was going through the floo a moment later. I was going to do something, or my name wasn't Gilderoy Albertus Lockhart, Master of Dark Creatures!

* * *

Author's note: Um... I think I only need to explain Lockhart today, don't I? Well, he's a different Lockhart than we know and loathe, obviously. He took an interest in learning about Dark Creatures while in school instead of after, so he took the appropriate courses, and, viola! He managed to be good at something other than memory charms and brushing his teeth! 

Sorry that this is late btw, I'm experiencing technical difficulties on the website TT-TT

So... yeah. I don't think there's much of anything else... is there? Meh. Next chapter is Chaz's point of view on this stuff and up to Halloween. Chapters from here on are much closer to the 4k mark by the way. Not sure if that'll last too long... but I can tell you that chapter 11 is... _lengthy_.

Muhahahaha!

Happy December! Hope you have snow... cause we never get any here in the PanNW : (


	9. Serpentine Me

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 8**

**Serpentine Me**

**"The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can't wake up."**

**D. H Lawrence**

.Charlus Potter.

I hid. After I had that diary, I realized something. My friends didn't care one wit about me. They never wrote me during my times of trouble. But Tom? Tom always wrote me. He listened. Tom, or "Flight" as he preferred to be called, he would never tell anyone what I said to him, he was my confidant. So, with him, I hid.

At home, I holed up more than ever. I left my room to eat, and only to eat. I had books, and I had Tom. He knew everything, or everything I could think to ask about, and taught me all sorts of magic. It was like having an older brother, one who knew what it was like to be alone, undervalued, and very nearly unloved, as I did so feel (after all, it's rather impossible to find out that your mother left your family because of you and feel loved despite it!).

For Tom, too, had been a half-blood in Slytherin when he attended. He knew how hard it was to take the hatred on both ends, from the other three houses that loathed the Slytherins so, and from the majority of his house, the blood purists. Tom knew how hard it was, and yet he had managed to rise above all of that! He had been a prefect – a half-blood Slytherin Prefect! – taking the position from right under the noses of those who looked down upon him. He was in line for Head Boy too, though the diary had been made before his seventh year, so he didn't know if he was ever the Head Boy.

He taught me many things. Spells, enchantments, how to better my body (useful for both Keeping and defending myself, as he had reassured me); Flight taught me many things, anything and everything to get my mind off of Mum. And, like I said, I hid. In my room, in the library, and when we were hurrying to the horseless carriages (though, if I looked from the corner of my eye I could see something that sort of resembled an inferius of an abraxan) when a small hand caught my shoulder.

"Charlie, hold up!" Oh, it was Harry. I shrugged off his hand. But, really, since when was I "Charlie"? He'd been calling me "Charlus" for the past year! Why did I suddenly have a nickname again? It wasn't even the same one he had called me up until last October. I glared at Harry as I brushed his hand away. Did he think I was just a game that he could come back to later? "Charlie, come on."

"So, I'm Charlie now am I?" I asked dryly, scowling ever so slightly. "I kind of figured I would never been deemed worthy to bear a nickname again by the oh-so-magnificent Boy-Who-Lived."

"Wha - ?" I smirked at Harry's dumbfounded look. That was how it ought to be. He should be the one surprised all the time, not getting it! I was getting annoyed with his "I know everything" moods, it was refreshing to see that I could still faze him. "Charlie, I - "

"Just leave me a-bloody-lone!" I shouted. Not sure what brought on the anger, but almost glad for it, I pressed away from him, climbing into the carriage nearest me. The horrified look on his face made it all the better.

The carriage that I entered held none other than the Slytherin Second Year Neutrals: Rebecca Moon, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass. Not that they had ever been nice to me or anything. I was far too emotional to be a sly Slytherin. They acknowledged that I wanted to be better than I was, better than my brother, though I had denied that until recently. It was their opinion that my "breakdowns" last year were very anti-Slytherin.

"Nott, Moon, Greengrass," I nodded stoically to each in turn. "Would you mind if I take that seat?" All three shrugged, in unison creepily enough (I found it was just a fluke of course, but a creepy one). "Thank you." I sat in their midst, looking out the window at the night sky. I think I surprised them; I wasn't even fidgeting.

"Potter," spoke up Nott suddenly, "I trust you will be sitting with us at the feast?" Smirking inwardly, I pretended to contemplate the answer.

"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt. It's not like I was about to seat myself with the 'Puffs, least ways." And, just like that, I was in. I had friends who understood everything, not just what they wanted to. It was nice.

* * *

''_Lo Flight,'_ I wrote, the emerald green ink of my quill sinking into the page as if it had never even been there. 

'_Hello to you too, young serpent,'_ Tom's reply came in a gentle silver script. _'I trust your classes are going well? It is after the end of them for the day, is it not?'_

'_I've got Herbology in an hour,'_ was my reply. _'I'm up for top of the class at the moment, next to Harry and Hermione. Your tutoring is really paying off you know.'_

'_Spectacular,'_ Tom sent a small doodle of a smiley face along with this message. _'To studying?'_

'_Let's,'_ I replied. Then, I was brought into a whole new world – Tom's memories. It was cold, a winter's day in Tom's earlier Hogwarts years. He was twelve, and standing in a dungeon, the one he usually showed his practice sessions in. I had actually found the room the year before, and all of the scorch marks and chunks of rubble were still strewn about. I learned best when I was studying Tom's practices.

"_Diffindo!"_ The young Tom cried, slashing his wand at the stone walls. A gash appeared behind the cloud of rubble. _"Reducto!"_ A beam of silvery-red light came from the yew wand and blew up a small piece of the Hogwarts stones. The castle was resilient, I knew, and such a reaction on that meant his spell was quite strong. Seventeen year old Tom, the one I knew so well, appeared just as corporeal as I, though neither of us could touch anything in the memory. He began to explain each spell his younger self used as he paused the memory where necessary.

"_Diffindo is the slicing or cutting hex,"_ he began, _"All that you have to do is slash your arm as you say it, in any direction, and a cut will appear in the place you aim, in the first thing in the curse's path. If it is strong, your spell may go on to a second opponent. It takes just as much effort to cast as a simple levitation charm and is very good for dueling, particularly sending a small one to distract them with a small cut to, say, the arm. Normally it will cause only a small cut, but it power is pumped into the spell, it is strong enough to cut a man in twain and leave a divot in the wall behind him._

"_Reducto, the reductor curse, is used to crush or to blast holes, or just to knock something away depending on the power behind it and the target's state of being and density. It is more complicated than diffindo, though not by much, and is usually not taught at all until the fifth year Defense course, if at all. It depends often on the teacher, and I suspect your current one won't be teaching it even to his seventh years. As you can see, it isn't half as complicated as all that, it just takes more energy to cast than, say, a tickler charm. About twice as much."_

"_So,"_ I watched the memory-Tom hexed the wall with the redactor again as the memory looped, _"Why wait so long? I've heard that it's useful, just like an impedimenta or a stupefy, and none of them are taught until fifth, sometimes even sixth year."_

"_They don't want younger students to use those spells indiscriminately. The teachers don't think that witches and wizards so young as yourself can do that sort of thing without abusing it, having duels in the halls and the like. It's rather like how they don't allow apparating until you are of age, or the illegality of teaching Dark spells to minors. The Ministry is very controlling, and fearful of an uprising of the youth."_

"… _Oh,"_ I blinked, but turned to watching the casting procedure. The slight twirl of the wrist at the start of the cutting hex, the upward flick of the wand's end at the end. I ingrained the exact movements into my mind, knowing that, when I tried it, I would produce the same effects.

"_I'm afraid I must depart a moment,"_ Tom said suddenly. _"I'll set up a reel of memories that you can watch until my return. I should only be a few minutes."_

At the time, I didn't even bother to wonder just _why_ he should need to "leave" me alone for any space of time in the diary. That diary was his mind after all, but I didn't think on that at all. To me, Flight was a person, and people could leave, provided they came back, whenever they pleased. It was nothing new anyway. He had, about three times before, done this in our study sessions, though usually not the ones on off periods. Before, it had been night sessions only. But, like I said, I never once bothered to question it.

True to his word, Tom returned less than two memory-minutes later, or it seemed as such. He had explained a while back that memory-time and real time not only ran different, but they felt different. It could be shorter or longer than real time, but Tom had his ways. He could always keep track of real time properly. Fifty years of experience could do that for one.

"You have about fifteen minutes until Herbology, young serpent," he flickered back into the memory. "Off you go."

And off I did go. I was already putting my things in my bag before I'd actually realized I was back in my body. Again, I didn't think to question. I just walked off to Herbology.

Except no one was there. Or, rather, none of the _Hufflepuffs_ were there. We Slytherins shared the lesson together, and we were all there, but not a badger-lover in sight, even Professor Sprout. The entire assembled class flitted about in confusion before we put to a vote who should visit the diminutive Herbology Mistress' to see if she was in. Due to my suddenly rising popularity among my house (especially the neutrals), I was not picked for the boring job. Instead, Millicent Bulstrode was outed to find exactly what was going on.

"Probably had an accident in her last class and the 'Puffs got s heads up that class was cancelled," I scowled as I speculated with the group. I was a neutral, and nobody really disliked us. I didn't step up to, say, Draco, nor did I back down from anyone. In Slytherin, a neutral was someone who was everything Slytherin was, without the blood prejudice. Few outside the house realized that we even existed though.

"I hope it was a Gryffindor," Pansy Parkindon posited. "Maybe a Weasley."

"Or a badger got into a spot of trouble," Draco snickered. To be honest, I didn't know why I thought of him as Draco, I just did. Besides, provided he wasn't spouting the pureblood doctrine he was good conversation (and, as I was half-blood, it was amazing he'd converse with me at all).

"Hopefully Diggory," Theo apparently agreed with the blonde's assessment.

Conversation continued along this train of thought for a while, even going so far as for some to place bets (for a galleon in per person) before Bulstrode returned, her heavy features seeming shocked. Gold was soon to change hands.

"Classes are cancelled today and tomorrow," she blinked, furrowing her brow. "Only Professor I could find was some old bat with outsized specs. She said that mudblood, Abbott, was attacked during her off period. The Weasley twins found her near the kitchens while skipping Divination. 'Stiff as a board!' the old loon said," her voice became a screechy falsetto. "I think she might've been drunk, because she started going on about Grims, tea leaves, and how the life lines of the entire school were very short. I barely managed to escape."

Scowling at the news, I passed a galleon to Becca. "Who here votes to _not_ take Divination next year?" She piped while pocketing the coin. A unanimous affirmative response caused her to nod knowingly. "Whether that bat was drunk or no, that's not the way to behave in a school full of children, especially in front of any of them. Batty old loon."

Everyone trekked back to the common room, not caring at all about Hannah's fate. I'll admit I'd felt a small… pang, I suppose, of negative emotion. But it passed, and I didn't think on it. The Slytherins were much better company than any pushover Hufflepuffs or brash Gryffindors!

Hogwarts life changed then, for better or worse I didn't know just yet.

* * *

"... Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart!" Proclaimed Dumbledore, ushering the loud thudding of my head on the Slytherin table. The crowd roared with applause as the pompous blonde himself entered from the Slytherin-side entrance. He passed the Heads of Slytherin and Ravenclaw, as well as several other teachers, coming to a rest at the dead-center front of the Great Hall. The greatest master of Dark Creatures that was alive around then, git that he was, had come to Hogwarts. I was too tired to deal with him after Mum, as we had just had Quidditch practice end ten minutes previous. 

"Hello! Hello! Thee is no longer any need to fear, for I," Lockhart bowed rather dramatically and oddly, twirling his wand. It was absolutely ridiculous, "am here. Anyone with information on the terrors stalking these halls had best tell me, though best wait until tomorrow when I'm settled. I'm sure that in no time at all we will have everything sorted, and the beast of Slytherin," I stiffened, along with several house mates. Great, make us feel even more alienated! "not the students, I assure you!" Like that would make the other students take us at all better, "taken to task!"

The man was probably the most arrogant I had ever met, but I have to admit that he was good at his job. I didn't like him though, not in the least. Mostly because the only time I did meet him, he ended up hitting on Mum. The problem with being such a popular family as the Potters was that we invited to all sorts of social events, many of which caused us to cross paths with other celebrities, and Lockhart wasn't the only man to hit on Mum, and I was usually present for this, as Harry and I stuck to Mum and Dad like glue, and Dad wouldn't let Mum away in case of flirtatious men who wanted to get an in with the very-much-married Lily Potter, mother to the Boy-Who-Lived and his very much unnoticeable twin brother who was absolutely, positively, _not_ special. At all. (Okay, so I was _just_ a bit bitter at this time...)

Dumbledore was shouting loudly, but no one heard (or, at least, I didn't). They were too busy cheering for the ponce. Why did Dumbledore have to choose him?

* * *

One week into October, the Ministry came to call, speaking in loud voices about – well, I actually mean shouting about, loudly of course – basilisks. Of course, everyone, after hearing that, and seeing as Master Lockhart was heading the discussion, flew into a panic. A basilisk was running about Hogwarts – slithering really, but the 'Puffs were loud as to their insistence of the overgrown snake_running_ – was a very bad thing, especially if it really was Slytherin's heir going about targeting muggleborn students. 

"I don't bloody care if he's the Headmaster!" Lockhart bellowed in a fury. "The man wants to just sit about while a bloody basilisk is loose! He's mad!"

All the rest of the month, all anyone could talk about was the basilisk. Older students escorted the younger to every class, with set library times so that they could get their housemates safely anywhere and everywhere. Flint had to wait for every member of the Quidditch team, including the reserves, before taking to the Pitch for practice, though everyone knew that we Slytherins were safe.

It wasn't until Halloween that I even thought to ask Tom about the basilisk. His diary even said, on the cover, that it was from 50 years ago (49 technically speaking, but just a few months shy of 50), which was the time it had originally been opened.

_'Flight,'_ I wrote, _'What do you know about basilisks.'_

_'Quite a bit, actually,'_ He replied, my ink coming back up in his words. _'Why do you ask?'_

_'There's one running – sorry, __slithering__, those 'puffs are starting to affect my grammar I think – about the school. I figured you were the best person to ask about them. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (it's the current little animal encyclopedia, published about twenty years ago) hardly had anything useful in it, and everything else has been checked out. I figure writing Dad about it wouldn't do me any good either. I figured you'd know, since you were around for the last opening of the Chamber (if my math is anything), and it is happening again after all.'_

_'Flattery will get you many places, young serpent.'_

_'Does that mean you'll show me?'_

An answer did not come. Instead, I found myself in the Hogwarts Library. Tom's 16 year old form (I would guess from the Halloween decorations that this was exactly fifty years ago) was reading a book in Salazar's corner, the section of the library dedicated to everything a Slytherin could want to know for survival.

_"I'll leave you to read over my shoulder,"_ the seventeen year old Tom informed me as he stood off to the side of the section. _"I'll be back soon. The memory is set for your regular words per minute in reading, so I shouldn't be needed."_

_"Thanks Flight,"_ I smiled at him before he faded away, quickly turning to read over memory-Tom's shoulder. The scene began to play through, slightly slowed (understandable, as a sixth year would read faster than a second year) as my eyes fell on the heading "Basilisk".

_'The basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents, in one of, if not the, most impressive of beings in the magical animal community. Being a serpent hatched from a chicken egg beneath a toad, they are not only rare, but filled with many magicks, both malevolent and not._

_'These magicks include, but cannot be limited to (for the breeding of basilisks for study is strictly controlled, and any magickal ability gained after the Gaze of Death are unknown due to the Third Clause of the Breeding and Research Guidelines in the Department for the Control of Magickal Creatures Handbook, as created by the Departments of Mysteries in the International Magickal Conventions of 1275) the Gaze of Death, resulting in immediate death upon the meeting of the basilisk's eyes. This is the basilisk's first method of killing, and results in instantaneous, painless death (so far as souls of the dead contacted report)._

_The Sight of Medusa is second, which causes instant petrification upon meeting of the eyes of the basilisk's reflection. A basilisk will not eat any being that is taken down with this ability due to the stone texture, which disagrees with the basilisks digestive tract._

_Third is the Breath of Life, a little known talent of the basilisk developed at the age of a single year, which may allow a person injected with its venom to be resurrected by the snake in question. This is very uncommon, and only recorded to have happened twice in all of time, once in the accidental biting of Merlin by one of said serpents when he was a boy (in 1812, as he lived backwards), the second being in the supposed case of his second son Salazar Slytherin, who was reported to have been bit by his own basilisk just so that this could be used in the event of his death, Slytherin's own measures toward immortality. All other abilities are information controlled by the Ministry and the Guild for Creature Masteries._

_'Spiders fear the mighty serpent, and flee all places it kills, or indeed any of it's powers have been put to use. For the space of 42 days, a spider will not enter such places. Conversely, a basilisk avoids roosters as death itself as a single crow a rooster will really kill the king of snakes in an instant._

_'The snakes appearance come in any range of sizes, for it never stops growing. The body is a green so dark it is nearly black, and while the body is scaled, the head has a horned crest just above the deadly yellow eyes. The largest reported basilisk was almost one hundred feet long, six feet around at the widest point, with a three foot head and fangs of two feet length. It was with this snake that it was confirmed that older basilisks may fold their fangs back into their mouth to hide the large teeth.'_

_"It's certainly interesting,"_ I nodded, watching as the older teen took his notes. He was completely absorbed, but when I actually looked at the writing, it was in a strange flowing script that I couldn't place, although certain squiggles arranged themselves in my mind. I got about every third word, usually "basilisk", "kill", "Slytherin", and several other odd words. I wondered vaguely as to the language the notes were in.

_"I trust so,"_ Tom said from behind me. He had returned. _"Basilisks are fascinating creatures."_

_"Yeah, they are,"_ I looked again at the notes. _"What language is that? I can't read it, but some sequences translate themselves, like this one," _I underlined a squiggle with my finger,_ "I know is basilisk."_

_"Interesting,"_ Tom was genuinely surprised, his eyebrows threatened to disappear, a very rare thing. _"That's Parseltext, as I call it. The written form of the snake tongue. I suppose spending time in my mind has allowed you to learn it. Perhaps it's contagious?"_ His eyes flickered in amusement. _"Come along now though, the feast is due to begin."_

_"Right,"_ I conceded quickly, making mental note to look more into sharing knowledge outside of that which is meant through a mental link. Such links weren't uncommon, and I was mildly interested, now I knew Id picked up some Parseltongue along the way. I didn't mind that he was a parseltongue, or that I was maybe becoming one, because I'd known Harry was one since we were kids. He might be a git, but evil he most certainly wasn't.

A distant smile crossed Tom's face before I faded back into my own body.

When I moved aside my curtains to put the diary of one T. M. Riddle back inside my trunk, I was mildly surprised to see Draco over by his own bed, fussing with a stray thread on his cloak. Apparently he had no scissors, and didn't know any cutting spells.

"Diffindo," I said absently, only slashing my wand a miniscule amount. My aim was true, and the spell snipped the string clean, not even grazing Draco's fingers. He squeaked as the magic passed him, but seemed pleased regardless.

"Thank you," Draco bowed his head slightly, "Tricky thread, you understand. Can't go about with frayed robes like a _Weasley_."

"Definitely not," I agreed easily. "Though I don't agree with your hair slicking bit, but to each his own, hm? Ready for the Halloween feast? I'm rather hoping Quirrell let in another troll as a joke."

"I'm ready," Draco straightened his robes a bit more, ignoring my troll comment. "What's the book, anyway? I've seen you writing in it a lot, but you never let anyone see so much as the cover. So is it a notebook, diary, what?"

"So blatant? My, you must be terribly curious," a smirk lit my features as I taunted him. "Here, you can look, but you won't find anything." I handed him the book, against my better judgment, and pretty much every instinct.

Draco grabbed the book before I could reconsider, backed up a step, and started flicking through empty page after empty page. "A diary, but it's like you never even wrote in it. Clever," he nodded his approval, closing it, but stopped when he saw the front cover, knuckles suddenly white as he gripped it. "Where'd you get this?!" He was, spontaneously, furious.

"Sirius Black gave it to me," I replied, shocked at his outrage. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

"This is my father's!" Draco scowled. "This is his private journal!"

"Oh..." I was shocked. Sirius had stolen this from Lucius Malfoy? But, no, that made no sense. Sirius had never been to Malfoy Manor, and why would he have slipped me something potentially dark? I'd though he'd given it to make sure I had some way to deal with Mum without confronting me... but this? No. Sirius was out, but then, who?

I contemplated the possibilities as Draco and I went to the Headmaster's office to contact Lucius Malfoy and figure out what was going on. I only hoped they wouldn't take Tom away. I liked him, and the idea of Hogwarts without him was bad.

* * *

Author's Note: Finally typed this... I had it written before I posted the first chapter though. Heh. Um... I'm currently written through January, and I aim to be done writing the series in June, but I'm sticking to the update once a week thing, and finishing in August 2008 . I aim to type a lot more soon of course. I've already finished one notebook off (more than half being Look for the Good Instead, starting from this chapter actually). 

Um... posted very much early because, hey, guess what? Still no interwebs. I really hope I can properly update over break, but at the rate my dad's going? No net for two weeks already. What's stopping it from being forever?

Anyway...

Bonuses! Yes, bonuses. For every good benchmark (25 reviews, 10k reads, etc), I'm planning on making little omakes and stuff. Maybe taking requests.

Now, for other series' (plans pending due to lack of internet). I'm working on Kingdom Hogwarts, so I'll post that by Christmas, the first chapter I mean. It's just making fun of Kingdom Hearts and how impossible everything Sora does really is. It'll be fun :) The one about Sirius I wrote the first chapter of last Friday actually, and if you noticed, I posted the prologue on Monday! Please send in some ideas for fic stereotypes to make fun of! (I've already got song-fics, slash fics, utopias, dystopias, evil Dumbles, Good Riddles, reversed genders, and many others, so... yeah.) As for my other Harry-goes-cross-dimension, that'll just be some fun with the Harry is the brother of the BWL, founders fics, and several other things. It'll be fun, to start posting June 2008, I hope. Lastly, I'm just brainstorming for the Arthurian story (though it's really only in that time period for chapter one), it'll take place in the times of Albus (Potter) and all them, and will be based off of the stories ofThe Once and Future King by EB White (which I've read three times since fifth grade) and (loosely) on The Mists of Avalon by Marrion Zimmer Bradley (which I am now reading for the first time).

Aside from all that? Nothing else. :P Happy Winter!


	10. Connect the Dots

**Sorry it's late! I hope you enjoy it anyway...**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 9**

**Connect the Dots**

**"All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in Kindergarten. Remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all – look."**

**Robert Fulghum**

.Draco Malfoy.

The book was simple, a diary bound in black leather. I didn't bother trying to reveal his writing though. He'd probably charmed it against such attempts (and he was right there). I closed is to hand it back, and stopped. The gold embossed name on the cover, T. M. Riddle. I had seen this on the desk of my father's study! Why should he have something of my father's?!

"Where'd you get this?!" I suddenly spat, tearing my eyes from the leather. They locked onto Charlus, and he furrowed his brow. He looked confused and concerned at once. How could he have even gotten father's journal? Our house was impenetrable to any not keyed to the wards!

"Sirius Black gave it to me," replied the lion in snake's clothing. His eyes were searching me, and flicking down to the book every so often. His hands fidgeted. He wouldn't have let me see if he knew it had been Father's. Black had given it to him and left him in the dark about what it could be! "Why, what's wrong with it?"

_Black!_ I thought furiously. _He can't have stolen this from Father though. Especially not his study._ It made no sense, and yet Charlus seemed to be honest! At the very least, he must have believed that Black had given it to him. But, really, who could have? Who had?

"This is my father's!" A scowl came upon my features at this statement. "This is his private journal!"

Charlus' bangs flew under his fringe. "Oh..." was the surprised reply. My scowl stayed in place as I snagged his elbow and dragged him away, explaining "Dumbledore" when asked where we were going. Professor Snape, I knew, had been sent to pick up streamers for the Halloween Feast, and all the other teachers would be decorating or getting ready to bring students to said Feast. The Headmaster was, unfortunately, the only option.

We came upon him swiftly, and he led us to his office, which was opened with the password "Fizzing Whizbees". The office itself was eccentric, filled with portraits (moving obviously) of all the Headmasters since the Founders (the portrait of the four being still, sadly), and odd silver instruments on every flat surface that shrieked or twanged every off second. In the corner, a Phoenix was perched, surveying both Charlus and myself as we entered the all too circular room.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter," began the barmy old codger, "what brings you to my humble abode?" Abode? I couldn't think that he actually _lived_ in his office!

"Charlus' journal," I replied immediately. I refused to call something of my father's a name so girly as diary! "He got it this summer, but whoever gave it to him stole it, I believe, from my father. I have seen that very journal on the desk in my father's private study, including over this very summer."

"I see," The Headmaster steepled his fingers before him. "And where, Mr. Potter, did you come across this book?"

"Diagon Alley," Charlus spoke up then. "I'm... not quite sure what happened, really. I went to Diagon Alley in mid August with Harry and Sirius, and when I came back home the diary was in one of my bags. I assumed that Sirius had given it to me, and hadn't wanted me to protest, so I could deal in my own way with what had happened over the summer. But now... well, I'm starting to doubt it."

_What happened over the summer? Oh!_ I mentally smacked my head. _His mother left! That was it, I believe..._ I had heard his old compatriots talking about it in the Library at the start of term. Apparently, he had gone to pieces and returned as a proper Slytherin. I remember being glad that I didn't share things with people who were dumb enough to talk about private matters in such a public place as the Library, and such an easy place for someone to eavesdrop in the relatively quiet environment.

"Indeed," the bumblebee sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, we shall floo your father later. Mr. Potter, may I see your... diary, was it?"

"Yeah," Charlus truly seemed to not want to give it up, but he opened the book. "Ink just seeps in, and can be brought up again. Watch." He made a little scribble, just a small squiggly line across the paper with the green ink the Headmaster gave him, and the ink just seemed to drain out of the paper, as though he'd never written. Charlus then tapped the page ten seconds later, and the line was back, in silver ink this time, before it sunk back once more. "See? It's very convenient."

"I see," confirmed the Headmaster. I gave Charlus a sidelong glance. Why did Charlus show him the secret of the journal? Unless that wasn't the real secret? As he had been so Slytherin as of late, I refused to think he would reveal the actual secret of his –_Father's_ – journal. Slytherin instincts said to keep things secret, even an enemies unless it would help. I couldn't see how revealing that to the Headmaster should help him beyond knowing that Father had probably written in it using the same trick. "Regardless, if this is truly Mr. Malfoy's diary, I must return it to him. I'm sure he would like to have it back after its long absence."

"Alright," sadness crossed Charlus' face. "Can I at least write him a letter in it? To apologize for having it and explain? I'm sure he would appreciate it, and I'm not sure if he'd want to see me face to face after I had his diary for so long..."

Had I not been a Slytherin through and through, my jaw would have dropped, I was sure. He was milking it! Charlus was using the Potter family reputation of being goody goody Gryffindors to seem naive! I smirked internally. _Cheeky bugger._

"You may," The Headmaster's eyes were twinkling madly, and Charlus went straight to writing, taking back up the quill and ink that the Headmaster had loaned him for the example, pausing on occasion in thought. Eventually, he stood and handed the leather bound notebook over. "Very well. You may both head off to your dormitories now. The Feast has been moved."

We did, and I couldn't help but wonder, what had the true secret behind the journal been? Later, I would think about the moving of the Feast, but I hardly gave it a thought for a while.

* * *

.Tom Riddle. 

I stood in another of my memories, bored. Eleven year old me hexed a Hufflepuff out of the way, and continued on. Suddenly, as Professor Dumbledore, the Tranfiguration instructor, was about to come reprimand me, a message written in green fire appeared before me, and I paused the memory. It was parseltext, and much better than I had expected for Charlus only revealing he could so much as read it but ten minutes ago.

'_Do not reply for ten seconds, in parseltext._' Charlus had written.

I waited, and squiggled my reply. '_Why? Have we been found out?_'

There was no reply until a full minute later, the information being quite surprising. '_Dumbledore is here,_' was the reply, in simple English script this time. '_Draco said that this – you – actually belongs to his dad, Lucius Malfoy, and I have to give you back. I'm sorry._'

_Give me back?_ I thought, horrified. I started writing quickly in the air, silver fire marking it before my eyes to show only as ink on the page before his. He couldn't give me back! I had too much to do!

'_There is little to be done, young serpent, but you can give me a temporary stay in your mind. Please, I __like__ speaking with you, I don't want to return to Lucius; he doesn't respect me like you do. Will you, please, allow me to stay?_' It was horrible to beg, but I had things to do, mudbloods to kill! I couldn't wait for Lucius to plant me with another student. It would take far too long!

The reply came back not even half a second later. '_Yes._'

In a second, I was in Charlus' mind, watching the Headmaster's office through his eyes. He continued to write for a few minutes, an apologetic letter to the supposed owner of the journal. I was out of the book! I was no longer bound to it at all! What was more, my host was a _willing_ host. He was _willing_ to have me in his head, replying before I even had time to weave a compulsion into my request. This was going to be the start of something to make history, I was sure.

* * *

.Lucius Malfoy. 

The soot was removed from my cloak almost immediately after I stepped from the grate in the Headmaster's office. He had called, requesting I come to his office (which had much too many noise making objects), though he wouldn't say why. Perhaps the Chamber had released its beast once more, the second attack. Perhaps it had killed this time instead of just petrifying the mudblood.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm glad you have come," Dumbledore waved me to a seat across the desk from his own throne-like chair. "Earlier today, about five minutes before I wrote you, your son and Charlus Potter came to me with the most odd object."

"Oh?" I didn't really care. So long as the Potter boy still had the diary, everything was fine.

"Yes. Young Draco seemed to think this was yours," a small black book bound in leather, _the diary_, was in his right hand. "Quite an interesting book, a diary that hides all of your secrets from anyone but the one who writes them, and only when called with a silent spell simple enough for a second year to know, but still impossible to figure out. Ingenious really. I thought I should return it to you. Though, it is my duty to inform you that handing out Voldemort's old school things really isn't very nice."

I sat stiffly, taking the diary back. Did that mean he really didn't know that Voldemort had trapped a soul in it? But who could I plant the diary with now? I left with the book, ready to confer with the soul Voldemort had entrusted the diary to.

However, I didn't write in it, not a word. There was a letter on the first page, the rest soaked through with many colors of ink, though mostly the black that I preferred, the silver the soul would reply with, and quite a lot of green ink as well. At the very end of the letter from the boy I had given the diary to, a single, short sentence was written in the neat text of the diary's soul: '_Fear not, I continue the purge._'

A slow smirk crawled along my mouth. The diary that the Dark Lord had entrusted to me had slipped its soul into a student, a _Potter_.

_I wonder how the boy wonder will take the loss of his twin brother so soon after his mother?_

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

The Common Room was full of fidgeting and fearful students. We knew it wasn't a Gryffindor who had been attacked, we were all there. What we did know was that the teachers had rounded everyone up to "keep down the panic." It was a double attack, already, and that was all anyone knew.

My problems were simple. I didn't know who had the diary this time, so I couldn't take the thrice damned horcrux away. My list of suspects was also far too broad, with most second years on the list, and quite a few upper years who were very stressed about testing as it was, not to mention all but twelve seventh years. I couldn't tell anyone either. My friends (and I really did consider them friends, but Terry and Ernie just couldn't make up for Hermione), aside from Terry, were all pretty thick, and Terry would be curious as to _how_ I knew so much, let alone why I should think it was a diary that was controlling the overlarge serpent. The teachers wouldn't believe me (I'd learned the lesson in first year, the first time about), but also wouldn't let me help, despite me being the only person outside of Voldemort himself that could open the Chamber, the latter being rather counterproductive anyway.

So, really, it should have been little surprise that a very important attack should happen months ahead of time. Hermione had been found petrified with the sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect Penelope Clearwater, just as before.

Over the next month, Neville took to hanging about with my group. Charlus had gone from being a sort of symbol of House Unity to associating exclusively with Slytherins. Neville, with one friend talking only with his own House and two turned to stone in the Hospital Wing, had turned to us, because he and I (the me of wherever I truly was) had apparently been more casual friends as children, and he didn't have that sort of base with anyone else... not that he would tell me that for a few years.

I did everything I could to find out who was doing the attacks, when it hit me. Towards the end of the semester (I knew we were due for an attack before the Christmas Holidays) I borrowed the Marauders' Map from Fred and George, knowing exactly how to find out. If the third attack was found quickly enough, I could back track the map by an hour. Whoever was to appear or disappear from Myrtle's bathroom in that time would have to be the one with the diary.

The attack came, another double petrification. Two fifth years, Gryffindor boys, were put in the Hospital Wing the day before we were set to go home. As soon as the bodies were found, I started looking about the map, requesting that it rewind.

Everyone's dot began to move backwards, into the Great Hall, outside, wherever they spent the time before the attack was noticed, the end of the lunch hour. Several people passed Myrtle's bathroom, but none went in (or left, technically) for a good while. I told the map to speed up, and ten minutes later a dot entered the bathroom, disappearing by the sinks.

My breath caught. How didn't I notice? He wrote in a black book all the time. He had distanced himself from anyone who could notice or help at all... and I didn't even think of him. How could I not?

Oh, I knew, of course I knew! I just didn't _want_ it to be him, just the same as I hadn't _wanted_ to find out Dumbledore manipulated me (though I was, and to an extent still am, loyal to him despite it), I hadn't _wanted_ to know that Moody (who wasn't Moody) was setting everything in line for me while I stumbled in the dark in fourth year. I didn't want it to be him, and so I had ignored every sign – every bloody sign! – that it could be him.

Snape always did say that Potters were arrogant softies (though in more angry terms). I guess he was right. I was so intent on my family – a family I didn't even know – being Potters, the good, infallible, loyal to a fault family that I never had, that I never thought my own brother (did I think of him much as that though? I had expected connection to him... but did I even make much of an effort to build a connection in the first place?) could be the one Riddle would possess.

The winter holiday hit fast, and the next day I found myself at Potter Manor. Dad had been waiting for us at the station this time, Sirius being on his honeymoon (Sirius! Married! End of the world, surely), but seemed stable enough. I took this to mean he had been going to his therapy sessions.

It still wasn't public knowledge that Mum – though I was beginning to wonder why I called her that when I had barely known her – was gone. Everyone wondered at the "family emergency" which had made Dad retire from the Wildebeests, and Mum no longer appeared anywhere, even to do so much as shop. The whole wizarding world knew that something was up, they just didn't know what.

But, to think, it would be so near Christmas that I could stop the attacks! No one else would be hurt by the basilisk. If I could get Dumbledore to realize that the little black book was a horcrux of Voldemort, I could get Gryffindor's Sword from the Sorting Hat and_stab_ the bloody thing.

"Hey Dad," I called, trotting up as the edge of my trunk bounced on the cobblestone platform. Charlus was somewhere behind me, walking quickly and from his toes, back straight and head high, his face set stoically. I winced every time I saw him going about so... aristocratically (even if Dad _did_ have a title) if that's even a word. He had been like that since school started, since he got the diary.

"'Lo Harry, Charlie," Dad nodded, a pained smile on his face. I knew why, our eyes. Snape's last wish was to look into my eyes, my mum's eyes, before he died. That same blessing was hurting my dad. Not for the first time, I wished that it wasn't just Potter women who were partial metamorphamagi.

"Dad," greeted Charlus, seemingly caught trying to avoid being at all casual in public, and too cold to his father. I was sure that, for someone being periodically possessed by the Dark Lord as a teenager, it was quite the vexing conundrum. "Are you well?"

Dad blinked owlishly at this. No one in our family spoke like that. "As can be expected," was the noncommittal reply.

"Let's head on home," I piped quickly, as I noticed prying eyes and ears all about. "How was Sirius' wedding? And where did he and Cynthia go for the honeymoon? You 'big bad adults' scheduled it while we impressionable children were away at school after all."

"It was fun," a clipped reply from my father as he led us away from the wizarding world and to the car – Ministry provided this time since Dad couldn't drive for the life of him – "Sirius figured you two would be bored anyway, so November was the prime time to get hitched. You'll have to ask Sirius where they went though. He didn't tell anyone, even Cynthia, so we're all in the dark."

"Probably Hawaii," I put in as we all sat in the car.

"Or Russia."

I gave my father a weird look. "Russia?"

"Sirius likes it there, though _why_ I will never dream to know. Barmy if you ask me."

"Oh... 'kay," Another thing I had never known about my godfather while he was alive (I just couldn't think of this Sirius as mine, their personalities were so different!). I couldn't even imagine why he should like Russia of all places.

The conversation remained on comfortable topics until we arrived home, where the house elves mobbed us. "Master Harry! Master Chazzy! You is home!" This was Springy, hopping in a manner befitting her name.

"Hello Springy," Charlus said with a hint of happiness behind his tone, a soft smile on his face. Apparently, he liked the happy-go-lucky house elf, as this was the first sign of fondness I'd seen him have for some time, especially for something living. Usually was filled with disdain for living anything. At least, in the pas three or four months.

Soon, we had settled back into life at the Manor, having put whatever we had on us away in our rooms. Dinner was a quiet affair, despite Remus dropping in with Tonks (who Charlus referred to as Aunty Rainbow) and the young Emmalie Selena Lupin (who giggled over the pink locks of hair that she had forced to grow from her head, much the way Teddy used to). We hadn't seen them much over the summer vacation, so I was happy to see them all again. The meal was filled with subtle questioning about the school year, which Charlus and I both answered carefully. He was more stable, it seemed, currently vying with me for top of most classes (and outright beating me in Potions, he had inherited Mum's flair for Potions), and very polite, but something was very much off, and everyone knew it. I was just the only one to know what that was.

During dessert, I attempted to pry, but my legilimancy probe caused him to pop his head up, and I found occlumancy walls. At first they were brittle, the shields of a beginner, or else someone who was neglecting them from lack of use, or need to use them. Then Charlus saw the probe, and I was met with very professional walls, without and made of metal, or so he imagined them. He might not have known just who it was that did it, but he did know that someone was trying to look into his head. Even as I continued to gaze at the impressive walls (it had taken me a year to get so good, with professional training!) I saw him look about the table, trying to figure out who would look in on his mind, or could.

How he knew occlumancy at twelve, when I was sure he hadn't last June, I couldn't know, but I resolved to tell him that night about his –_the_ – diary. I didn't want him to try and kill Dad and I in our sleep or something.

The evening came to a close when Emma yawned, causing the new parents to retire to their own home. Dad went to bed as well, bringing with him the new sleep medication he had been prescribed the day before. He told us to go to bed too, but I don't think he really expected us to. So, naturally, we didn't.

"Charlie," he turned as I spoke. "Your diary is possessed."

"Um... yeah," he gave me a sidelong glance. "How did you know about that exactly?"

"Because it's possessing you!" I shouted this. Not quite sure why, but it felt could to yell. How could he be so unsurprised that the book had a soul?! I was slightly pleased when his jaw dropped, but the verbal response wasn't satisfying at all.

"How'd you know about that?" He was completely flabbergasted now. I got some pleasure from that.

"That doesn't matter. Give me the diary."

Now it was my turn to be surprised, as he stopped being at all shocked and relaxed, rolling his eyes. "Too late for that, Bromine. Dumbledore took it away already," he scoffed. "So much for you being all knowing, eh?"

"Oh..." I blinked owlishly, but Charlus just smirked. "I guess the old coot really is on top of things for once."

"Mhm," Charlus turned up the stairs. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah, night," I replied, a bit preoccupied. Little did I know how "on top of things" Dumbledore really was, or rather, wasn't, as the case just so happened to be.

* * *

Author's Note: Season's Greetings earthlings! Sorry I'm posting this late, but I only just got internet today at noon (which just so happens to be a day after I wanted to post. Grr). So, sorry again. I'm posting the first four days of Christmas in the next hour, and after this everything should be normal again. Also posting Kingdom Hogwarts today! And The Sirius Misadventures of Snuffles comes out tomorrow, even though I wrote the chapter at school the week before last... um... yeah... 

Anyway, be glad! I'm writing the Christmas things and typing what I've written of this story instead of doing my extra credit for English, or learning katakana for Japanese like I was going to (which, while not for credit, extra or otherwise, as we're not actually to be learning that 'til next semester, I still wanted to do). Anyway, hope you all have had a Happy ChristmaChannuQuanzikah. I had a white Christmas! 'Twas amazing, as it's the first white Christmas I've EVER had. Special :P

Explaining parts of the chapter now, I guess. Okay, so two weeks ago I got a review about how Harry acts towards Charlus, so I'll start there, and my reasoning behind it, yeah? Personally, I cannot imagine thinking of someone as family as quickly as most people write it. Alright, so I hate my family and thus am a bit jaded, but think about it this way: Harry never had a loving family, and he's worried they will treat him like the Dursleys did (or how the Dursleys treated Dudley for that matter!). He has reservations. When he finds out about Charlus, he is conflicted. He always wanted a brother, but the closest he had was Dudley, who was a rat bastard, got it? He isn't sure how to approach him, and he doesn't have some sort of instant connection to him. He doesn't know him! He decides a good way to approach Charlus is through his friends, people he already knows how to handle, but they think he's just trying to steal Charlus' friends! Then Charlus offers up a truce, and they eventually develop a tentative relationship. Things are okay, and then Charlus recoils from everything because of Lily leaving. Harry can't mourn the way Charlus and James are because he mourned his mother long ago, and he doesn't know how to help. Instead, he does what he knows, and helps out the elves. Charlus thinks he's just cold, and strives to be less affected than his brother. Riddle helps him tamp down emotions with occlumancy, and voila! The twins are, once again, on bad terms. Get it?

O.O Wow. Big paragraph... um... about Draco: He's on talking terms with Charlus, and while not desperate to know what's up with the book, he's curious, so just asks, because at least then he'll know if it's something really private. Lucius knew that he would give the diary to someone soon, so he had it on his desk, running ideas by the soul (that he doesn't know is Voldie's) of who to give it to. He suggests a Potter, the diary agrees (as I rather imagined that a Potter cousin might have been a nuisance to him at Hogwarts and he likes his petty revenge, being Voldie), and forgot to put the diary back in his drawer sometimes, so Draco saw it, thought that Charlus had stolen it, and wanted to get it to his father ASAP. He couldn't just go to Snape, so he went to Dumbledore (against his better judgment) and demanded it be returned to his father. He sees the supposed secret of the diary, and decides to ask his father about it later, since it _is_ his.

What else, what else? Oh, Charlus is very much possessed. You'll see more on that in the next two chapters (the second of those two being the end of book two!!! And much more climactic than the lame ending to book one that I wrote...), so please stay tuned! Like I said before, I'm written through the end of January (so I'll be writing more in January again... ehheh... I've been busy with the Christmas stuff and We Are Survivors lately, so I've not written anything new since the start of December...). Chapter eleven is going to be long, 7 pages in my (now full) notebook (14 both sides), and a page is usually about 1000 words, so that'll be good and long...

Happy Late Boxing Day!


	11. Riddle Me This

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 10**

**Riddle Me This**

"Every human life involves an unfathomable mystery, for man is the riddle of the universe, and the riddle of man in his endowment with personal capacities." 

**Harry Emerson Fosdick**

.Charlus Potter.

Christmas had come and gone, quite swiftly really. Dad withdrew, and the subject of Mum was never once breached. Sirius and Cynthia's honeymoon ended on Christmas, when they came to visit for the customary present-opening and dinner. Sirius was very Sirius, just as he had been after Mum died, almost all hints of Harry's fun loving godfather gone. At least mine was still the same, if a bit quieter. Cynthia was pregnant, due in June.

Small facts like this were stuck in my mind, maybe so that I wouldn't think of Mum myself, not that it worked. Sure, I really didn't think of Mum much at all, provided we were out of the house, but it was still to often. I liked to think I was coping better than Harry, because my brother kept getting these sad looks on his face. But me? I didn't care anymore. She left us, and I'd not let her memory hurt me! I was_not_ weak! I could prove it, and I would, to anyone and everyone who dared question it. I had to prove I wasn't some spoilt, emotional half-blood like my brother!

After the holidays, attacks doubled, up to once a month. Tom continued to teach me spells, potions techniques (which increased my already stellar scores; Professor Snape had started mentioning skipping me next year), anything he wanted or I requested, and I occasionally bested even Neville in Herbology, though never practically. He had a green thumb that would have made Hufflepuff herself envious. I was top in Potions and History lessons. Tom was an amazing teacher, butt he'd say naught about the Chamber.

The Gryffindor victim count reached seven in April, Hufflepuff had three, as did Ravenclaw. Thirteen students had been petrified thus far. The heir, whoever he was, held no love for the lions.

This all had Harry in a panic, I would often notice. As soon as the second attack had happened, he became much more jittery than I could ever remember, though I barely cared to notice; it was as if he expected to be next. Tom laughed whenever he saw my frantic fraternal twin. He was always with me those days, and I was technically possessed, but unlike Professor Quirrell (who, oddly enough, had taken to skirting me in the hallways since I took Tom in my head in October), I _wasn't_ possessed by any Dark Lords, nor was my guest a quasi-solid parasite sticking out the back of my head.

The first day that I find, now, to be truly important – though I dismissed the entire affair at the time – was April the first. Harry and I had banded together with the Weasley Twins once more to prank the school. Mostly so that Dad and Sirius wouldn't be able to complain about our not pranking anyone all year _again_.

They were simple pranks, unimportant really, a potion in the orange juice to turn people into canaries (Fred mentioned that they were considering putting the potion instead in cream puffs, marketing them as "canary creams"), charmed sandwiches that tried to attack whoever ate them, usually smearing mayonnaise or mustard down their robes, and a random Ravenclaw boy, a fifth year, serenaded a Slytherin girl the year above him (though we later found this to be the doing of a seventh year Slytherin who had mixed an odd, but non volatile, blend of a mild love potion and an Elixir to Induce Euphoria). When classes started, every teacher's desk was turned into an animal, using a product that the twins had asked Dad to help them create two years hence for a prank on Professor Snape. Later, a trick step activated on each stair case, one below the usual trick stairs, that turned the step-e into a pink hippopotamus. Flitwick sang the national anthem at dinner.

April Fool's Day was fun, filled with high jinx to make Dad and the 'Uncles' proud, but that wasn't what made the day at all important. It was an article published in the Daily Prophet that morning at breakfast which should have struck my attention.

_**Break In at the Department of Mysteries!**_

_Mysterious intruder baffles all attempts at identification: Azkaban sentence severe._

_Last night, an Unspeakable came across a mysterious man with no authorization to be in the Department,_ Reports Special Correspondent for the Daily Prophet, Rita Skeeter._ The Ministry was abuzz with hot gossip on the subject as a gruff man, aged somewhere between 40 an 60, was seen carried out of the Department of Mysteries to, what people hoped, was Azkaban. Reliable sources claim there to have been no alert or warning at all of the man being in the Department before he was found._

_Healers at St. Mungo's who made sure to give the man a good once over before handing him over to the aurors had this to say: "The man seems to have been put under dozens of Dark Curses in the past several years, some as recently as last night, including the Demens Curse, the Cruciatus, and several others that I don't think even exist. On top of this he has about the past five years in consistent contact with dementors for extended periods of time, what seems to have been a streak of almost twelve years prior to that, heavy malnutrition, and is likely to be more than slightly insane. It seems to my team that he's just coming _out_ of Azkaban, and not into it."_

_No one has been able to identify the man, magically or otherwise, and came through only with a small black book which refuses to leave his pocket. Aurors only guess as to how he managed to break into the Department of Mysteries. The man is described as have long, scraggly black hair, a gaunt face of a healthy hue, hollow gray eyes, and a thin frame. Anyone with information on the identity of this man is to contact the aurors immediately by owl or floo._

_This reporter, for one, is going to get to the bottom of this mystery and let the public know exactly what is going on.'_

That article went mainly unnoticed, and no one really cared about anything in the article for some months, but we, or some of us at least, soon found out exactly what was going on. A single break in at the Ministry would turn several lives upside down, we just didn't know it yet.

* * *

April 14th was next in the cue of importance. That was the day that Lockhart finally managed to pull Dumbledore from Hogwarts. Hagrid became a mess soon after, and had taken to sending mournful glances along the staff table, in particular the throne like chair, empty, which once held the Headmasters rump at every meal. He had been the Lord of the Light, now banished from a school to have the Gryffindor Head of House fill his place, but never his seat, with dignity.

Without Dumbledore, Quirrell left too, the old loon having been the only reason that he was allowed to stay in the first place. Tom and I were both pleased. Quirrell was a coward, stutter or no, whom Voldemort had overpowered so easily even in his phantom state even for an unwilling host. Tom had assured me that, if I truly wanted to resist, he doubted if the Dark Lord himself could overtake me. He admitted, seeming a bit abashed, that he couldn't either, especially as a willing guest, since if I revoked he'd be spit right back out, not even given the chance to anchor.

Or conversation was more free without the Headmaster about. Tom had no worries about the Headmaster finding traces of conversation in my head any longer, and so we talked of everything, not just what would be totally safe regardless.

"_I believe something is wrong,_" Tom said suddenly in the middle of a third year memory. I turned away from memory-Tom, who was learning about Mimbulus Mimbletonia in Herbology. "_I mean with your brother. He acts as one who grew up neglected, shy of touch from those who he is not close to, instead of one used to being pampered. And yet it is muted._"

"_I know,_" I nodded along. "_He's been like this for over a year, you know that by now. It's ridiculous. One moment he's smiling and joking, and then he'll be as socially awkward as a muggleborn at a centaur convention. Overnight he went from calling me 'Chaz' and 'Bro' to acting as if we had never met, and then calling me 'Charlus' of all things. I might think him replaced if I didn't know that, had one of us been, it would have been me. Replacing him doesn't screw with anyone important to the Wizarding World except to mess with his actual self, wherever he would be._"

"_There is more,_" Tom sat now cross legged as the memory faded away to the "living room" of my mind where Tom and I often sat to chat out of memories. "_I have seen from your memories that he was once very much different, happy-go-lucky and arrogant, which I suppose he still is, but in October '91 he was suddenly a lot more wistful and he seemed to become quite a lot smarter, and yet he often day dreams and never opens a book at home. I doubt he would have the time to do much reading with the lions. Also, he seems to always know what's going on, most of the time anyway. And he knew about me. Your brother is a puzzle with a better understanding of these things than is natural._"

I snorted derisively. "_He can't keep himself to himself,_" I confirmed, "_He's the epitome of a Gryffindor, or he was, but now..._"

"_We will keep an eye on him. Perhaps prolonged contact with the Dark Lord fried his brains last year?_" I laughed and Tom got the most indignant look on his face. "_I meant that completely seriously you know!_"

"_I suppose,_" a grin lit my face (it was rather difficult to mask emotions in one's own mind after all!), "_But, then, his scar always has messed with him a bit. Parseltongue, headaches, and once of twice it opened up and bled in his sleep. It might have fried him during the 'big confrontation of doom' a year ago._"

Tom scoffed at that, though I noticed his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. "_Big confrontation of doom is it? I swear, little serpent, you think up the oddest of things., don't you?_"

"_I can't help it. I'm twelve._" My tone was business-like, but my face retained its grin.

"_No, I don't suppose it can. Well, let us continue out lessons then, shall we? I can certainly mull over this conundrum while you are asleep or something, I assure you._" Tom's memory flicked back into place and we continued the lesson on the hideous plant with boils.

I smiled as the lesson ended, ready, or so I thought, for what was to come next. Transfigurations popped up, however it was actually an older Tom in a lesson for them. He had always shown me studies and practices, never the actual Transfiguration lesson. As I looked to the front, I knew why. A much younger Professor Dumbledore was teaching the class!

"_Dumbledore taught Transfigurations to you? Why are you showing me just now?_" Confused, I turned to my guest, who was lounging on a couch that, from it's eccentric coloration, I didn't doubt was something Dumbledore kept in the room when he taught. Tom was sixteen for this lesson, and I couldn't grasp why he wanted me to sit a NEWT lesson at all. I was only in third year after all!

"_I decided that now the old man's gone, it couldn't hurt to show you,_" Tom replied, tone slightly aloof. Memory-Tom raised his hand in the currently muted memory. "_I thought you ought to learn to be an animagus._"

My eyes widened quite a bit, my brows shooting beneath my fringe, and I was soon paying rapt attention to Dumbledore's lecture, though more to Tom's summations and his memory's notes. It was at my age that the Marauders had begun their training in the art. I was sure that I could beat their record, because I had Tom (the fact that I didn't spend most of my time pranking people also would help, I was sure). He actually liked me, cared for me, he bothered to give me time. We both knew he could have gone back to Lucius Malfoy, but he chose me. If I had the choice, I'd not let someone who cared so much for me be driven away.

I wouldn't be the insufficient brother of the Boy-Who-Lived any longer!

Truly, I was the better of us two. Tom had told me so. I knew, that though Harry had survived the Killing Curse, I was far more focused and driven toward making myself something, I'd be of more use in a fight.

When he made comments like that, I almost felt that he might have been proud of me. Maybe he was, I don't know. Tom – my Flight – was an odd person. One moment he was teaching me, leading me, the next he was away, doing Merlin only knew what, or telling me to leave. He taught me to defend myself, mentally, magically, emotionally, he even taught me to "scrap", to be able to fight with my fists. We both found the latter barbaric, but he taught me regardless, it was necessary. Tom feared for my well being.

My best friend in those days, that's what Tom was. He set me along the path to what would be my life in the future. I pains me to admit this, it really does, to even think it, let alone to put it in writing that may one day be seen, but it is the truth. Without Tom Riddle, who was my role model then, and, to an extent, still was for a while, I would have been killed long before my seventh year, perhaps even by Voldemort (the irony!).

After an hour of animagus notes, and the end of the Transfigurations lessons, Tom told me I knew all that the lesson told, and that it was getting late. I went to sleep directly after. The 14th of April died, and as the 15th awoke, the castle was on lockdown.

In the night, around eight or nine was the estimated time, another attack had taken place. Lockhart was staying in the castle to investigate, and stumbled upon a pair of petrified snoggers in the Astronomy Tower. Ravenclaws wearing glasses, he said, which had reflected the gaze to make them petrified rather than dead. He was still angered with the Board of Governors and the Ministry for refusing to allow the dismissal of the students, and had managed to arranged we be locked in our common rooms. I didn't like it. No one else did either.

"Why are we at school at all?" Groaned Theodore. I perked an eyebrow and Daphne gestured that he explain. "We're at a school with a bleeding _basilisk_, and we aren't even allowed to leave! It's counterproductive!"

"Superiority complexes, of course," Daphne informed him calmly with a bored sigh. "Honestly, the Minister wants to catch it without anyone knowing it's here, and we can't let anyone know with these stupid secrecy charms they put on us. Draco's father wants it to kill off all the muggleborn students, which it is naturally trying to do, and he has got the Minister's ear. He's most likely going on about how it will seem better if the snake is caught with us still here, because it will make the Ministry look competent or some such rot."

"As if the Ministry could _ever_ be at all competent," I yawned wide. "Why do you care anyway, Theo? It won't go after any Slytherins."

"We aren't learning anything that we wouldn't from books," He defended. "You of all people should understand that!"

"It does tend to make the idea of going to school a bit redundant," Rebecca agreed smoothly as she adjusted the sketch pad in her lap, "and I suppose it _is_ rather boring really, that we can't do anything at all without an escort."

I just smiled as the conversation continued. Tom was throwing in his two cents of course, but only to me. We had found that when he spoke through me, it was still his voice coming out, and when I tried to say what he did, I couldn't keep up with his tirades. It was just too hard.

"Well, they can't exactly _not_ find it," I dropped in after a bit. "It's a great bloody snake that can literally kill you as soon as look at you. There's not much else to be done now anyway."

"Says the mighty bookworm," this was, oddly, one of the upper years, a fifth year chaser and prefect who was trying to reign in the younger years. "Oi! Drop that candle you lot!" He joined us, oddly, after the students in question stopped trying to light things on fire. Donovan Carmen usually had no time to socialize with younger years, even if I was the only keeper in school who could block more than half his shots. "When are you sneaking out, Potter?"

I blinked owlishly. What was he on about? "What?" Why should he even think I was sneaking out? I hadn't even bothered going out after curfew before, let alone break more than one or two school rules at all (those being don't go in the third floor corridor and don't play pranks). I wasn't some Gryffindoric ninny to go gallivanting off!

"Well, you're sneaking out, aren't you? You always do," Donovan stated in a rather matter-of-fact manner. "Hardly anyone notices, mind you, but _really_, we are Slytherins here. We always have an eye out on the serpentlings.

'_He's an odd one,_' Tom thought at me. '_You don't sneak out._'

_I know,_ was my own surface thought. Occlumancy didn't work on Tom, as he was behind my walls, and reinforced them himself.

"I don't sneak about," I informed the mistaken Chaser, "Slytherins don't sneak. That's for nosey Gryffindors. After all, you're much more likely to be caught sneaking than, say, walking about as if you belong there." This was really Tom, but it still made sense to come from me.

All Donovan said before leaving to sit with Flint was "true".

"He's an odd duck," was all anyone (Rebecca) could say on the subject before we returned to our conversation on how pointless it all was.

* * *

School continued. Life continued. After three days of lockdown, and no sign of the basilisk, classes began once more. I knocked Harry from the top in Transfigurations (leaving my _dear_ brother quite gob smacked) due to all of the theory work I was doing for my animagus training.

As to that, I was learning as much theory as I possibly could for the magical branches of Transfigurations and the wandless arts (bonds, apparition, occlumancy, legilimancy, and the kinesis (pyro, tele, everything really) before I dared attempt to even find my form. Tom helped a lot.

In mid June, during our last theory session (Tom said that we could find my form after the exams) that he seemed lost. It was the 14th, the last day before exams. The victims of the basilisk were to be revived that night, though none would take the exams, obviously. Most would either receive tutoring over the summer or else be held back a year. For the NEWT and OWL students, it was to be devastating. Yet, Tom was lost.

He hesitated to speak and was nervous. I didn't know why. I had never seen him in such a state! It was un-nerving to say the least.

When he came back after several minutes absence (though, time in my mind, I found, passed much slower than real-world time), I asked him, "Flight, what's wrong? You're jumpy! What's got you like this?"

The unthinkable happened then. "I am... sorry, young serpent." Tom apologized. I was confused, but the scene about me changed. I was in the second floor Arithmancy corridor, in front of an out of order girls' toilet. I was standing just behind my own body, but it was held the way that Tom did his. He raised my wand – Ash, 14 ¼ inches, with the core of a Phoenix feather, that was so protective, and Ollivander said was very particular, good for defense – a message was writ in gold paint on the wall, same as what had been at the site of Hannah's petrification.

"The enemies took no note... the time for games is long since past... now the time for death has come..." I stopped reading, almost choking before reading aloud the last segment. "His skeleton shall lie in the Chamber... forever..."

Again the scene changed. By my height and the look of the grounds it was the very start of the school year, and I was walking behind Hagrid's hut. The chicken coop was in front of my memory self, and the door was opened. It happened quickly. A rooster was in my clenched hands, feathers were flying and the rooster let out a raspy death squawk. It was tossed away.

"Flight!" I called helplessly as I watched myself kill more and more roosters. "What is this? Flight! Flight!"

He never replied. That's how I knew he cared. He never came to face me, to jeer and scowl and laugh. Tom just left me, shaky himself. If he had faced me, I don't think I would have wanted him in my head anymore, and none of it would have happened.

But, then, since when do things ever happen how we wish they would?

* * *

Author's Note: Right... um, I typed this (finishing I mean) about an hour before posting. Wow. Procrastination much? Heh... um... well, Happy New Year, I hope. Rabbit Rabbit and all that. Welcome to 2008! ... Dear Merlin I have school tomorrow O.O

Ahem anyway... I think I'll start by explaining Tom's attitude, shall I? This is Tom Riddle after his, first, second, and third kill (his family were all done at the same time after all), and I think that while it did make him stronger after the fact, the actual act would have made a soul fragment rather insecure. With Ginny, he was fed the insecurities of a young girl and saw just how weak people really were, strengthening his resolve and character. However, in Charlus' case he was reminded of himself. A half-blood Slytherin whose mother had left him. He didn't have that same sense of being separate and stronger. He strengthened Charlus instead, because he reminded him of himself.

Next up is the Article! If you haven't figured that out, you'll get it next chapter (or probably if you know anything about The Misadventures of Snuffles at all). There will be more. If you have figured it out (I rather hope you did, I was being rather heavy handed on that one after all!) than I'm sure you have some idea as to the third year plot (or do you?).

Third addressed is why Tom taught Charlus at all. Well, he wasn't lying. In my messed up little world, a willing host has complete control over their guest spirit, so if he wanted Tom gone, he would be gone. His occlumancy doesn't help with that either. At first, Tom felt the best way to get close was to teach him (not to mention his semi-ignored want to defend him for being so like himself), so he uses that as the distraction to take Charlus' body for a spin. Later, he was in denial, but the announcement of the restorations made reality come a knocking and he high-tailed it.

Have a good week! I will see you for chapter 11 next Wednesday :)


	12. Mistaken

_"This is parseltongue. Rawr rawr rawr. Hissy!"_**Notice how even the quotation marks are in italics too? There ya go. If there is more clarification needed for those then review or PM or something. I'll figure something out I guess...**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 11**

**Mistaken**

**"What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?"**

**Robert Fulghum**

**"Why'd you have to go and kill my parents  
Lord Voldemort  
I mean 'You-know-who?'  
Why'd you have to leave that lightening scar  
Lord Voldemort  
I mean 'You-know-who?'**

**There's an evil in the wizarding world  
And it is you  
But good will prevail  
No matter what you do."**

**Song: The Dark Lord Lament by Harry and the Potters**

.James Potter.

My children, my sons, my _sanity_ left on the train to school on January 7, 1993. Months past, creeping by at a pace that I had never known before. Sirius or Remus was there when either could be, but they had their own familial obligations. Sirius to his pregnant wife, Remus to his son. The letters from my boys were censored, speaking only vaguely of "missing" students who had "taken ill", but I knew there was a lot more afoot. Gilderoy Lockhart had been called in, and I had a cousin on the Board of Governors. All the boys could really do was ask not to be pulled out. Harry wanted to protect his friends. Charlus just wanted to learn.

In June, the floo call came. I was horrified. The heir had taken Charlus. First my wife vanished with no more a trace than a letter, and now my son had been taken! Madame Pomfrey had to retrieve me as I broke down. What else could I do?

It came to me then, and I requested that someone retrieve Harry for me. We would leave, and he could be safe at home! I would protect the last of my family. But they couldn't find him. His friend Ron Weasley said that he had just "vanished" at the end of the advised study period.

My children were gone, I was alone. I fainted.

* * *

.Tom Riddle. 

It was time. I rather didn't want it to be; Charlus was rather nice company. He had _potential_! He could usually pick up a spell just by watching me do it. The young serpent had a knack for the Dark Arts (though I always mixed those with the Defense lessons, and he never knew) that was reminiscent of my own, a flair for Potions that I never had, and a passion for Transfigurations. If I hadn't had to kill him, I might not have minded having him for a host.

But the time had come. I left him to ruminate over the last of my old notes from my animagus study, the ones that I had finished about this time of year in '42. He would have tried to find his form after the exams. Too bad I had to kill him, he could have been an amazing follower.

As I passed the Awards for Special Services to the School, which were on display in the Entrance Hall just like at the end of every school year, I noticed an extra engraving on mine. _Head Boy, 1942-43_. I could sense the irony. Still, I pressed on, climbing the stairs from the dungeon quickly to the second floor girls' lavatory. I inscribed my message there, slightly annoyed that I hadn't the time to leave it with the first, but there was no way. Someone was bound to notice Charlus wasn't in the Potions room for the lecture on the importance of second year exams. When the message was found, the castle was bound to be in an uproar. I couldn't risk it.

After leaving my mark on the castle walls, I entered the bathroom. Myrtle Swenson, known better as "moaning, moping Myrtle", was away, likely haunting a boys' loo or else sulking in her U-Bend.

_"Open,"_ I hissed through Charlus' mouth. The thought came to my mind that, when speaking Parseltongue, our voices sounded the same always, though never with any human tongues. But, then, he did come to speak Parseltongue through my possession. I waited for the sink to finish moving and continued to consider it as I slid down the tubing. Why should he gain my gift that was given through my bloodline. Perhaps it was a recessive trait to the Evanses or Potters? I highly doubted that his twin could speak the snake language just because a backfired spell had given him a scar... unless...

"Damn it!" I shouted into the initial Chamber from atop a mound of snakeskin. The Hall sent the echoing message back at me, but I didn't pay any attention. _He_ was a horcrux! I had succeeded in making sure of my immortality, making multiple horcruxes, and one of them was a person, Harry Potter! What would that make of me, a horcrux holding residence in the head of another? I inhabited the blood brother of a horcrux, a boy strong enough and with enough hold over my soul that, should he wish it, he could expel me with ease! Was the other just the same? Was I to be like it, a scar on an otherwise normal being?

I didn't like this. I fazed back into the mind, nervous. What if he pushed me out? I couldn't let it happen! I sent him into my memories, memories of what I had done with his body, starting with leaving the message. If he was too distracted to understand what he could do to stop me, there was no way he could expel me! _He_ would be the shadow of a spirit, not I! His twin may have beaten one piece of me, but he would not!

But Gods, it did hurt. Charlus was frightened, and I cared. I hated that I cared! How could I care? He was pathetic, wasn't he? So why did I bloody care! I wanted to help him. Why _should_ I? _Why_ should I?

So I didn't. He kept screaming in his mind, echoing through the head, calling for it to just stop! He was a fool! My little serpent was a fool.

I saved him, he said. I dragged him from the sadness that had possessed him for two weeks. He was grateful that I taught him defenses for his mind against his emotions, the same ones that would have torn him to pieces most probably. He didn't realize that was beneficial to me that no one see his memory that t was for him.

The Chamber was just how I remembered from a month and a half before I had quit attacks until just now, though I couldn't think of a reason as to why. Not a reasonable reason least ways. After a quick glance about, I walked to the feet of the statue. I assumed it was of Salazar Slytherin, though he looked quite distinctly like an ape, as my inbred uncle Morfin Gaunt had.

Sitting behind the marble feet, I began to meditate. Slowly, a ghostlike body began to build.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

The final study guide for the Exams, McGonagall's final prep time for us, was an intense review. We were told firmly that it would be a _good idea_ to study for the exams that started on Sunday, and I knew what the practical would be, so I wasn't about to waste time turning frogs into toads like everyone else would. Lucky me.

We had been preparing to leave when, inexplicably, Dumbledore's voice boomed through the castle. "There has been another attack! All students are to return to their common room! A head count will take place in 30 minutes! Teachers report to the staff lounge immediately!" The sound stopped, then repeated twice before falling silent. While everyone else was gossiping, I fell into shadow.

I left immediately, throwing the Cloak of Invisibility over myself that I had "convinced" my father to let me "borrow" (in other words I snuck it over the vacation while he wasn't looking). The halls were chaotic, but I ducked through several short cuts, nearly got lost on the fourth floor, and finally found the girls' lavatory, with its painted message. It was confusing, but I understood pretty well, I should think. We continued to let muggleborns attend, and now the punishment had been enacted; a student, the boy he'd been possessing since the winter holidays, had been taken down into the Chamber.

Unfortunately, the revelation that the person was a boy really didn't do anything to narrow down the possible suspects. After all, Malfoy could have slipped the diary to anyone over the holiday break after Dumbledore had given it back, not knowing exactly what it was.

In the lavatory, all was quiet. Myrtle was probably out. I wondered idly, for a moment, if anyone had noticed my disappearances, though I dismissed said thought. I had a student to save. Maybe I could do it_without_ having to fight (or kill) the basilisk this time (since I was very likely to not be able to actually do it anyway). There was a good chance that I wouldn't actually be able to.

_"Open,"_ came the hiss from my mouth. If possible, I would change the password. For all I knew, if I couldn't kill the snake, Voldemort could get in (what, aside from Dumbledore, was stopping him anyway?) and gain control of giant serpent that was 40 meters long! Not a great idea.

The path was full of shadows, skeletons, and skins, just as I remembered. It occurred to me that I probably should have set a trap down there before the entire incident, but it really was too late to dwell on it (provided I didn't have to deal with any other cross-dimensional adventures at least). Still, all the passwords were simply "open" in parseltongue, and I entered the Chamber of Secrets without incident... well, I did trip on a skin while I wasn't looking, but it wasn't my fault! The Chamber was just as I remembered, but I didn't see any collapsed figures lying about, nor the diary. Where was he? And Riddle?

"So you have come," a spectral body came between the stone feet of Slytherin, looking much as I remembered, if not so solid. It was Tom Riddle, naturally (or, technically, very very unnaturally). I guessed he had only been draining his victim for maybe half an hour... but, then, I was definitely no expert. How long could any one student go missing for though, really? "Can't say I'm terribly surprised." This, sadly, sounded rather similar to something I'm sure I said when I met Voldemort in my second first year... damn.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," I inclined my head ever so slightly in his direction. I decided spontaneously to try and psyche him out. I hadn't really planned for this... I probably should have. Where was Hermione when I needed her? (Aside from petrified in the Hospital Wing of course.) "Born December 31st, 1925, to Merope Gaunt, who died in the child birth. Your father, the muggle Thomas Riddle, was the son of the Lord in Little Hangleton, and left you and your mother for dead. Heir of Slytherin and the Gaunt Line. You killed your father at age 17 and framed your only other living relative for it: Morfin Gaunt. The first time you set the basilisk on the school you killed Moaning Myrtle and blamed the whole thing on Hagrid and his pet acromantula. You went on to do this." Here I pointed at my scar. Not quite sure why I said all of that, honestly, but I think I was going for the intimidation factor. And, while he did seem surprised, Riddle _smirked_ in response. Why was he smirking?

The pre-Dark Lord only widened his eyes very slightly at my display. "Dear me, someone really did their research for once. Or, perhaps, you accessed what is stored in your scar?" My own eyes widened to the point where they'd have been popping out in one of Dudley's old cartoon shows. How could he know about the horcrux in my head? A malicious smile overtook the smirk as Riddle leaned against Slytherin's leg. "But... no. You don't seem quite dark enough, do you? I saw quite a lot from your brother, you know. As much of an arrogant git you are, Dark really never was your cup of tea. Just..._luck_."

"You didn't have Charlus for very long," I piped, voice cracking a bit. My scare tactic had backfired very much. "Dumbledore took the diary from him in December, right? So, who got you next? Where's the diary Tom?"

I expected anger at knowing about the trading hands (or even existence) of the horcrux. I wanted him to be surprised, anything to give me an edge, for him to refuse to tell me and, I don't know, perhaps give it away somehow! Instead, that cruel grin stayed in place, painfully wide, and a low rumbling chuckle escaped. It didn't take a Ravenclaw to tell that this didn't bode at all well for me.

* * *

.Tom Riddle. 

Footsteps fell on wet stone. My consciousness was split, one part keeping Charlus occupied (Great Grindelwald! The screams!) and the rest in my own body. I had been toying with keeping Charlus to keep me entertained, but I had decided against it. He could push me from his mind if he wanted, and I doubted that should change. I was better off without him, with my own life force.

Still, I brought my still slightly-spectral body around the stone feet. A person could still put their hand through my "body" at this stage, and I would seem to be mere heavy air. I will admit that I had been curious as to that point and had, only a couple of minutes previous, used Charlus' hand to test it. An odd sensation to say the least, even if I was semi-transparent.

I was only mildly surprised to see Harry Potter walking through the Chamber, wand tightly clenched in his hands, eyes scanning the environs to lock on me. A small flare of anger came, looking at him. Some hero he made, a twelve year old, scrawny and spoilt, facing the big bad Voldemort in slimy school robes and a smudge of ink on his cheek. This child beat me twice? I hardly expected he could do it again.

"So you have come," I stated calmly. My occlumency had tamped down the anger, hiding it away from where it could affect my judgment. "Can't say I'm terribly surprised."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," I He nodded politely to me. He knew of me, apparently. "Born December 31st, 1925, to Merope Gaunt, who died in the child birth. Your father, the muggle Thomas Riddle, was the son of the Lord in Little Hangleton, and left you and your mother for dead. Heir of Slytherin and the Gaunt Line. You killed your father at age 17 and framed your only other living relative for it: Morfin Gaunt. The first time you set the basilisk on the school you killed Moaning Myrtle and blamed the whole thing on Hagrid and his pet acromantula. You went on to do this." I didn't care that he knew so much about me, but that he was so confident about it! Even as he pointed out the scar on his forehead I wanted to roll my eyes.

Instead, I smirked, letting my eyes widen a fraction. If he thought to catch me off guard, why not let him think he had? I knew, by then, that he always knew something. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried the same taunting tactic with the older me too. "Dear me, someone really did their research for once. Or, perhaps, you accessed what is stored in your scar?" Poke at his lack of incentive to research, and then at what he may or may not know. His eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared under his fringe, hand falling limp. Sarcasm was a far better weapon than his seeming _endless_ knowledge. I grinned a wicked smile. "But... no. You don't seem quite dark enough, do you? I saw quite a lot from your brother, you know. As much of an arrogant git you are, Dark really never was your cup of tea. Just... _luck_."

Yes, the infamous Potter Luck. Almost as well known as the Boy-Who-Lived himself! It was his _luck_ that saved him, not love, obviously. From what I saw in Charlus' memories, Harry had said that he "talked about the utopia in the Mirror of Erised and suddenly Voldemort vanished _because of the love_." It sounded more to me like the compulsions were weak and Quirrell broke them to expel the piece of me that he had picked up in Albania.

"You didn't have Charlus for very long," I nearly snorted at this. How was ten months "not long"? And his voice _cracked!_ Sweet Circe, the boy was nervous. Almost made me want to put him out of his misery. "Dumbledore took the diary from him in December, right?" December? No, he couldn't have thought... "So, who got you next? Where's the diary Tom?"

He did! He really thought that taking away the diary would thwart my advances into the matter! When he had warned Charlus, he hadn't even thought that I was still around! There was no stopping it: I laughed. It was completely ridiculous! Emotional attachment had kept me around. I hadn't even had to force his brother into it, he just accepted me straight off the bat! It was part way his rejection of the familial bond the twins shared that drove the better Potter to me. He had no one else to turn to after all, and I got him.

I flickered there, as my thoughts swayed, and the screams carried over. Except they weren't screams anymore, just whimpers and harried pleas to let him out. I halted my laughter and reigned in my concentration to the almost-solid body. It was part way the boy before me that hurt my little serpent. However, I was really hurting him more, taking away his life force, but I had to stall for time. I was almost solid enough to hold a wand, I was sure! And when I had one, Sonia would obey me. Charlus; body was already too weak and conflicted to wield magic.

"So, Harry, what changed you?" I inquired with a smirk. The boy quit moving at all, throwing up thick occlumency walls all of a sudden, even better than the ones I had taught Charlus to make. Yes, I was stalling, but I was so curious... "You were the picture of the stubbornly loyal Potter, you know. Pampered, a rather dense, attention-seeking child... and yet, ever since I have returned to Hogwarts, I have seen you suddenly being so humble, even shy at times, as if you weren't used to being in the lime light and used to it all at once. Of course, it could be because you want good PR, but... well, you're _Gryffindor_. And, you know, I'm not the only one to notice. Your brother did, my own host noticed you were different from how you had been. I think your mother did as well. Perhaps it is not as Charlus believes, that she left because of _him_, but rather you?"

I purposely attacked this open sore. Despite mental shields that were as tight as the royal treasury, he flinched. "That's not it!" He shouted angrily. These were the first emotions that I had seen him display aside from confusion about the affair at all. "She didn't leave because of any son of hers! It might even have been written under duress!"

"Are you sure?" I enjoyed prodding the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die. It was really quite enthralling to see the Gryffindor squirm. "Wasn't the letter about _your_ dangerous antics? Didn't she leave because _you_ were 'too dangerous'?"

"Shut up! _Stupefy!_" Harry's wand whipped up from his side, a jet of red light shooting in my general direction. General being the operative word. The spell, though quick, went wide, crashing into Salazar's knee cap, leaving not even a mark of being there at all. While I was surprised that he knew any spells more dangerous than the tickler charm, I made no show of it. Instead, I ducked between the feet as the boy continued slinging spells and picked up Charlus; wand. Ash was very protective of its chosen, and by extension me.

"Are you ready to duel, lion cub?" I sneered. Harry settled into a dueling stance meant for much larger defensive duelists. It was better than expected, but with his small size impossible to keep up for even the semblance of a long duel. "Are you ready to die?" Cliché, yes, but fitting.

"I was going to say that," responded the boy. "Reducto!" The red light went wide as I dodged it. This was going to be walk in the park.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

_Who had he taken?_ I wondered as I ducked a dark purple hex of some sort. Ash was not a common wand wood, because of its highly selective nature, and while durable, it attracted trouble. Cedric had an ash wand, perhaps the only one in the school, but it wouldn't accept Voldemort, would it? Unicorn hair and Phoenix feathers didn't get along at all well.

"Protego!" I cried as another curse came hurtling toward me. I hadn't the time to side step, and my legs were aching as it was. The shield glowedblue under the onslaught, but as the spell broke through I managed to dodge. Dueling was a lot harder in a twelve-year-old's body.

_Though maybe,_ I thought dryly,_ it's because I need to get in shape. Some auror I am! Couldn't even think enough ahead to exercise..._ Hastily, I slammed up yet another shield, glad to be fighting just Tom Riddle and not Lord Voldemort. Tom was towering over me already, physically and power-wise. I shuddered to think of what the fully grown abomination could do to me. I was getting thumped, and he didn't seem to be trying too hard at all!

Rolling quickly to the side, I ducked behind the stone foot of Slytherin. The big toe took the hit in my stead and was reduced to dust as I slipped around the back. Riddle had gone back there to get the wand, which meant the victim was there as well. I could find the diary!

"If only Dumbledore was here," I groaned. I was schmoozing it up a bit, since I _did_ need Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, but I really did wish I had Dumbledore there. He would know what to do! "He's here, but not in here... I need _help!_" A flash of flame came from just in front of me, illuminating the shadows behind the statue, and even as Fawkes landed on my shoulders, dropping the hat in my hands, I was aghast.

Charlus was lying in a comfortable position against the right heel, pale and looking troubled. My brother had lied about Dumbledore taking the diary! Or perhaps Riddle had? Right, he could have possessed Charlus for a moment at home to lie to me! Except it wasn't there. Unlike Ginny, who had clutched the diary to her chest, for Charlus it was nowhere in sight. Where was the diary? Where was that thrice damned horcrux?! I would have asked the semi-solid soul fragment in question, but he was a step ahead as he drifted between the gap in the feet.

"I see you have found my host," Riddle acknowledged as he appeared before me. He then paused a moment, looking just beside my head, at Fawkes who was weighing down my shoulder. "The Phoenix whose feather's reside in our chosen wands... and the school Sorting Hat?_Quite_ the weapons for Dumbledore to send his champion. Neither can really_do_ anything to me though... you can probably get the Hat to yell 'Slytherin' quite loudly though."

I didn't mind the later parts though. "Host..." I murmured, eyes locked on the shadowed form of my brother. What could he mean? Was he referring to his leeching away Charlus; life force? But... it didn't sound right. He lived in the diary; _that_ was his host, wasn't it? So why should he call Charlus his host?

"Figured it out yet?" Riddle was twirling around Charlus' wand between his fingers now – the selective ash wand – though I knew he was still ready to duel at a moment's notice. "You were closest over the holidays. You let what you want limit your reasoning.

My hearts stopped. Well, not really, that would be rather perilous to my health. But it was close. The whole thing couldn't be that simple, could it? Merlin, it couldn't be that! Yet, everything Slytherin's heir said was fitting.

"What happened to the horcrux, Tom?" I asked, breathing heavy. I didn't know how to extract a horcrux from anyone but myself! It couldn't be in Charlus, but it was so very obvious that this was the case. I knew the answer, before his lips curled into a smirk. I didn't even phase him in saying "horcrux". And judging by a comment he'd made before (about my scar having things stored in it) he had deduced that I had one in me too.

"I transferred vessels," Riddle replied smoothly, gripping the wand firmly now. "It's quite different to have a willing host, you know. Now then, Avada Kadavera!" The green light came swooping quickly, but I did dodge. Thank Merlin that I managed to dodge! But, in the process, I smacked into Slytherin's foot, my head in fact, which left me wincing and fuzzy headed. Voldemort always lorded everything over me before, that I was at his mercy, that there was no chance I could beat him. He didn't _do_ cheap shots.

Another spell came at me, but missed on its own, sailing over me and to a different corner of the Chamber, giving me time to scramble away. My main problem in this situation was, in fact, many problems. I couldn't just try to outright kill the being I was fighting because he was leeching directly from Charlus, and I had no idea what it would do to just sever that link. I knew pretty much nothing of Dark Magical Theory, but I did know that Riddle was barely solid enough to hold the wand he had taken, which might have meant, for all I knew, that a Killing Curse would go right through him! On top of this, Voldemort Jr. was attacking me incessantly, so I really had no time to think. Just block, drop, dive, somersault, and throw the occasional spell or two back in his face.

Actually, my priorities changed after less than half a minute of "dueling". I was winded, very much so, and Tom called out to the basilisk. I was running low on my adrenaline by then, my head was aching, and my breath was ragged. The latter, luckily, was easily solved.

After the incident with Charlus; asthma over the summer, I'd done a bit of reading (for once). I found that it was like have a chest cold, minus the coughing and sneezing, for pretty much ever, it wasn't just a wheeze. Anyone can wheeze, and an inhaler can usually help with anyone's wheezing because it either simulated or stimulated the Adrenaline response. I can't actually remember which.

Not that I was thinking on which at the time. The short duel had moved Riddle and I in front of Slytherin's statue, and when he left me alone to hiss to the basilisk to come out and play, and slipped behind again and rifled through Charlus' pockets for his inhaler. A few lazy curses had been sent my way, but the egotistical Dark Lord knew (or seemed to know) that his snake would get me.

Taking two hasty and clumsy puffs from the weird medicinal capsule, I looked about in the low light from Fawkes, who was standing guard over Charlus. The hat was on the ground two feet away, and an idea struck me. Gryffindor's sword was good to me for more than just slaying the basilisk! If I could hit Charlus with it, then Riddle would be gone, Fawkes could heal the wound, and if I actually managed to hack anything off then Madame Pomfrey could just re-grow it! In my opinion, it was quite the clever plan. Maybe it was just the concussion talking.

Should I go for an arm? But, then, was Charlus right handed or left? I scoured my memories quickly, thinking hard, and then remembered two months ago in Potions he was taking notes with his right. So he was right handed. Madam Pomfrey could grow arms easy! No problem.

_"Kill the boy!"_ Riddle hissed suddenly, snapping me from my reverie. I turned a moment, and when I turned back I found Charlus was being levitated up towards one of Slytherin's outstretched hands. With very little time left (I could hear the basilisk slithering slowly in my direction), I jammed the Sorting Hat on my head.

_'Hm, a young Gryffindor? Ah yes, I see what you need...' _ The Hat mumbled at me. There was shifting in the fabric and I thrust my hand into it before the sword could strike me. I already had one concussion, I was sure, I didn't need another.

"Fawkes, bring me to Charlus and then go peck out the basilisk's eyes to distract it and Riddle; I've got a plan," I whispered hurriedly, and drawing the sword better into my hand, I stood, gripped Fawkes' tail, and vanished into a swirl of flame.

* * *

.Tom Riddle. 

He had seen Charlus! I decided that playtime was over. As Harry was likely about to reply to my comments, I lifted my (Charlus') wand and cast a Killing Curse just like I had three times before against human beings, putting all of my derision for the boy before me into the spell that sent green light at him. The wand, however, was reluctant, as Ash didn't like Dark magic very much, and so the boy had time to roll away.

"Avada Kadavera!" I yelled again, but my shot was a few inches too high. The spell whizzed over the boy's messy head, but I continued to pump anger, hatred, and general dislike of him into each spell I sent. They weren't all the Killing Curse of course, but most were lethal, painful, or both. He dodged elaborately to each shot, drawing me away from my former host to the front of Slytherin's statue. I followed him about throwing spells for less than a minute before giving it up as a bad job. It was boring me, and he deserved a much worse death than one at the end of his brother's reluctant wand. It was a game of cat and mouse; I shot; he blocked or dodged, and only on occasion managed to try to get a spell in.

_"Speak to me Slytherin, Greatest of the Hogwarts Four!"_ I hissed finally, chasing the boy away with a few lazy curses. The jaw lowered, and the Potter boy slipped between the spread feet of Salazar Slytherin to stand in the shadow of the foot hiding his brother.

I heard him panting, breathing heavy as my beautiful Sonia uncoiled within the statue. With him preoccupied, I cast Imperturbable spells on all of the pipes so that there would be no hide and seek for the mouse in this game. There was no way that I should be so stupid as to let him get an advantage of that sort, or else escape in the winding tunnels. He knew about my horcruxes after all, and that was crime enough for him to die. Far worse than my killing my father. If he knew what had transpired down here and over the past year, there was no way I could allow that Potter brat to escape with such information to Dumbledore; the barmy old codger was bound to be back in the castle by now after all, dealing with the grieving James Potter and perhaps the rest of the "Marauder" family.

My basilisk, my Sonia, slithered down from the statue to take her place before me, and I smiled. This was my familiar after all, who had originally bonded to my ancestor and had magic chosen _me_ to be her master. Sonia did not like to kill (really, what sort of basilisk didn't like to kill?) so unless I were to layer a compulsion over her she would not do such things. Even then shoe fought it.

_"Kill the boy,"_ I hissed to her, sending the compulsion over the link. She hissed her assent, going into the usual diatribe of _"Rip! Tear! Kill!"_

The Phoenix flew soon after Sonia began to wind her way towards where Harry had gone to hide, where I had sent Charlus from. It dived from above, and my eyes widened in horror as I watched it's ark. Fawkes, the Headmaster's thrice damned Phoenix, had plucked out her eye! Such savagery! Sonia hissed her scream of pain, and I grunted, clutching at my own eye as it stung greatly, not quite corporeal as it was.

I roared in outrage, sending a Killing Curse at the bird, though it dodged. Had it hit, I would have been dealing with a baby Phoenix, which was nearly incapable of being any sort of nuisance. Instead, I was shocked to see where it went. The area just above Slytherin's left palm. Charlus.

Only, he wasn't alone. While Charlus lay a bit scattered on the palm, as I could barely see from my position, his brother stood over him with a sword. It swung, and they both seemed to vanish with the curse in a spray of crimson. I wondered, for a moment, what exactly had just happened and if my young serpent was alive now.

Then... I died.

* * *

.Charlus Potter. 

Pain. I was in a lot of pain. Mentally, I suppose I might compare it to the Cruciatus curse, like fire crawling up and down my skin with no end and every bone in my body being put under such strain they would break. Something in me _snapped_ for a minute there; I couldn't sort out my memories or who I was. I saw an Orphanage, and then I would see my family. I saw the corpse of my father, and then I saw myself playing with another, my real father, James Potter. I saw Quidditch, and I saw murder.

Emotional turmoil came as well. Tom had betrayed me, shown everything that he had done with my body. He had done all that while I was having our_lessons_, the time I trusted and depended on him most!

Finally there was the physical agony. I couldn't feel my arm! Except that I_could_, I just wished I couldn't. The area around my left elbow was on fire, below that there was really nothing, and my upper arm was heavy. I just wasn't thinking straight, as all I could see was a green light and crimson.

I tried to lift my arm to feel my face. It lifted, but only slightly. The pain increased, and the pressure on my upper arm, so I lowered it once more. Something sharp dug in and at my elbow (why couldn't I feel anything past there?) a very hot wetness stung, but alleviated all other pains just there. But I still couldn't feel. The sharp spots retracted, and while I felt the weight recede, I still couldn't rub at my eyes with my left hand. The right lifted just fine and swept away the hot stick, but not my left.

With the liquid (identified as blood from the small metallic drip in my mouth) and the green light all but gone, I saw Harry standing over me, Dumbledore's Phoenix resting on his shoulder and an intricate sword inset with fold all along the blade and handle (I've no idea what that's actually called of course; swords never interested me).

"Why can't I move my arm?" I asked quietly, my throat parched. I noticed the blade was dripping red, the entire thing looking terribly Gryffindor, and I boosted myself slightly on my right arm. We were on a large stone arm. When Harry didn't respond, I looked for myself.

With how I felt, how my body had been "responding", maybe I should have guessed at the truth. It was a reasonable – horrible – answer. And yet, I guess I was too thick just then, or I subconsciously didn't want it to be so. I just stared at the stump of my wand arm and passed out.

Because boys don't faint.

* * *

.Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. 

It was just over an hour after I had returned at Severus' behest, an estimated hour and a half, perhaps even two hours since Charlus Potter had been taken, and an hour since Harry Potter had been taken, five minutes (if that) since Fawkes had mysteriously flamed out of my office, taking the Sorting Hat along for the ride. At the time, I was in a meeting with the Board of Governors, and when Phoenix flame sprung up, I stood.

As the last whisp of fire vanished, a gruesome sight lay before me. Two boys, both small, lanky, and covered in blood had come with Fawkes back to my office. The one kneeling was Harry Potter, holding a golden sword with rubies in the hilt in one hand, the Sorting Hat under his armpit, and his other hand wrapped around the right forearm of the other boy. He looked terribly winded. However, Charlus was sprawled on the ground, missing half his left arm (which was, disturbingly, in Fawkes' talons) and, though pale, still breathing.

I was genuinely shocked at this turn of events. To be honest, I had expected to never again see either boy alive when I found them to be missing, especially not the de-limbed one. While I had hoped that Harry hadn't found his way to the Chamber, they weren't high. Now, perhaps, the Wizarding World had a future.

"'Lo Professor Dumbledore," Harry puffed as he stood up properly. He nodded lazily to the Governors. "Stop giving out Voldemort's things Mr. Malfoy. It's getting kind of old having to fight him."

The governors all flinched at the name, then cast sidelong glances at the youngest, and undoubtedly darkest of them. However, in five minutes the governors were gone, dismissed since the school was, apparently safe, and I was sitting between the beds of the two Potter boys.

"I can't really be a fount of knowledge, sir," Harry began apologetically. "I do know enough though. The diary you confiscated from Charlus was actually Voldemort's from his sixth year. He said he'd put a piece of his soul into it when he killed his father. After Charlus got the diary, he'd been possessing him, and then full time when you took the book away. He kept sending Dark Curses at me while his body was becoming more solid too, and when he got the basilisk out I made a plan, because the Hat had given me Gryffindor's sword, and Fawkes was there he tried to pick out the basilisk's eyes while I did my part with Charlus.

"I'd read about the sword before," Harry mentioned, though I wondered when. From what was told to me, he never read for recreation like his brother, and usually sat around playing Exploding Snap instead. "I can't remember what the book was. But it said the sword was made to combat Slytherin magic, and I thought it I used it on Charlus I could get rid of Riddle, sever their connection or something. Fawkes would be able to seal the wound and get rid of anything that might have hurt him, incase he had Slytherin magic so the sword tried to hurt him too, and Madam Pomfrey could re-grow the arm. But, see, when I cut it off a curse caught him from Riddle – I dunno what though – and there was a lot of blood and green light. By the time I could see straight Fawkes had already sealed up his arm, and Riddle was gone. I figured it had worked."

The explanation was so innocent, so childish, I was glad to see that the incident hadn't made Harry jaded. We talked more, and Poppy finished her examination of Charlus. The look on her face said everything. What had been done couldn't be fixed, and he would have to get prosthetics.

The 1992-93 school year ended finally, and I was beginning to worry about the following years of drama, especially considering the Daily Prophet that I had been given that last day.

_'Breakout of Azkaban!_

_Department of Mysteries Intruder Escapes'_

* * *

.Unknown. 

The Dementors were going mad, not that I cared. I loped along quickly, diving into the cold sea. I had to get away! But why had I been there in the first place? I didn't know, couldn't know. Had they forgotten me? Had Fate decided to play a trick on me again? The deal had been 42, and not one more!

I swam late into the night, finally arriving in Ireland. What had gone wrong? My journal said the right name, the right day of the month even. Why was I forgotten?

I sighed heavily, trudging onward. Fate had decided to put me through the ringer for nearly five years, and here I was, spending another three months (almost anyway) in Azkaban. This made escape number 42. A derisive snort. It all came back to that number. The Answer to the Big Question. I had imagined it as "How many trials can you put an innocent man through?" That was the answer after all. I'd spent almost half my life behind bars now, and what crimes had I committed? 42 counts of escape from Azkaban, quite a few of helping someone escape, some petty thievery, breaking and entering (usually into the Ministry), but they always pinned worse on me.

Oh well, I guess that's just how I was destined to be. People just see me as my surname: Black.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so this is very late. Sorry. I had, literally, 30 minutes online of the weekend and Monday each, and on Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday I was working nonstop on homework. Apparently my dad (and my grades) didn't agree with me that writing instead of doing homework is more beneficial to me. So, really, sorry. 

Um... wow. Long chapter. Not quite sure what to explain. I'll put any answers to questions that come up in the next chapter. I just typed 7k words in one go. My arm rather hurts now.

Have a good week, chapter 12 _will_ be on time! And look next Friday for chapter 1 of The Misadventures of Snuffles. I think it'll be done by then. Not actually sure yet.


	13. Pity Me Not

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 12**

**Pity Me Not**

"**Rebellion against your ****handicaps**** gets you nowhere. Self-pity gets you nowhere. One must have the adventurous daring to accept oneself as a bundle of possibilities and undertake the most interesting game in the world - making the most of one's best."**

**Henry Emerson Fosdick**

.Charlus Potter.

It was gone. My arm, my _left_ arm, which just so happened to be my wand arm... it was gone. When I had first seen that one thing, that bloodied stump, I had fainted dead away and woke up the next day to find it was still gone and would never be coming back.

Actually, I found out a lot when I woke up, some of it I had guessed from the odd memories that had popped into my head. First, of course, had been that my brother, my _twin brother_ who had known me his _entire life_ had realized I was left handed and hacked off said arm. By some horrible twist of fate, it could never be grown back. I was stuck with magical prosthetics for the rest of my life unless I somehow developed a telekinetic ability (which, as it just so happens, are extremely rare and only run in families containing vampire or werewolf blood. While I had studied the theories, I knew next to nothing about them anyway).

Second had been that Tom Riddle, Flight, my friend, confidant, savior, even_brother_had been the Dark Lord Voldemort! Though, I was a bit more hung up about my arm having been lobbed off than that little tidbit.

Back to my arm, I suppose. I had no chance of getting along without my arm, so I would need a prosthetic. As it just so happens, they were supposed to be very difficult to adapt to (Mad-Eye Moody himself told me this, and he had a prosthetic hand, peg leg, and a great false eye, all of which, he said, he had yet to become completely accustomed to after having them for over ten years). My chances of becoming an animagus dropped to the floor too. A human false arm would look very odd on whatever I was. If I were a snake, it was likely to vanish with my clothes, but the old Potter luck was bound to be on my side. No doubt I'd be a _gerbil_ or something boring like that.

Thinking of being an animagus always brought me back to Tom. After all, he taught me at least half of what I knew about the transformation theories and preparations, and had claimed that I could have been completely done with the entire thing before Halloween under his tutelage. Then, I thought of his memories, the lessons, which brought me back to that odd moment where I saw memories he had never deigned to show me. It happened just that once, on June the 8th, 1992, and every image was still burned into my mind. He killed his father, and I strangled roosters. Naturally, I felt betrayed. What sort of sitcom was my life, that my mentor would be a mass murderer? It certainly wasn't a sitcom.

The school year ended less than a week after I left, which was a week after I woke up, and in that time everyone gave me _their condolences_. What if I didn't want them? But, of course, there was no way I could, was there? After all, as a _cripple_, what could I do alone? I was stuck without an arm until the day school was really let out because of fittings and making sure it was all healed properly and taking nerve potions took two weeks. They had to put charms of it for "easy handling" and to make it a better conductor for magic since it was my wand arm. All I got was pity! What if I didn't want pity? What if I just wanted to go outside and Keep? I wasn't allowed even that, of course. I was a _cripple_.

It was just after Dad and I picked up Harry from Platform 9 ¾ (and I got quite a few mothers to sigh sadly and small children to ask questions as to why I had no arm) that we finally went to get my docking joint installed and to pick up the arm itself. They seemed to think that shoving a piece of metal straight into the core nerve wouldn't _hurt_. As if that wouldn't bring about a pained cry!

"That_hurt_, you know," I growled, clenching my teeth as the Healer, a man by the name of Weston, pulled it out again and shot a quick spell to staunch the blood flow that had begun when they tried to put it in. The three attending Healers were soon prodding the spot, causing me to scowl (though I did manage to bite back any pained noises). One would think that if I said stick metal in it _hurt_, that prodding might, in fact, be painful as well? That they might analyze it without poking me?

Harry was sitting uncomfortably in the corner of the room with Dad, tossing a child-sized quaffle in the air and catching it. It was a nervous habit of his that I had noticed he gained over the past two years. My twin, my supposed brother, had done this to me, had actually been hailed as a _hero_ for doing this to me, because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and if he claimed me to be possessed, that there was no other way to get Voldemort from me short of killing me or letting him come back into power, then he was to be believed. Mum and Dad believed him about anything that would get him into trouble, and Dumbledore, great man as he was, could never find fault in him. Never mind that he had supposedly forgotten which hand was my dominant and had lobbed it off! He saved my _life_. Why should I thank him for that?

This was Dad's shame, though. The fact that I wouldn't _thank_ my brother for cutting off my wand arm. Did he know what it was like? To either learn a completely new way of life, or else to try to switch wand arms? I'd never been any kind of ambidextrous, and it wasn't going to change at the drop of a hat.

Suddenly, I hissed in pain at a particularly hard prod caught the very tender spot on my arm. "That _hurt_," I growled again, with the same tensing, but a bit more of a groan added into it. Healer Weston pulled back with a rather bad "I've got bad news but I'll make it seem not so bad!" look.

"Well, it looks as though you've got yourself a bit of a curse scar at the usual docking point. We'll just adjust the nerve alignment prong," he said calmly, with that damned smile as he lifted up the docking joint again and fiddled with the bit that actually went on my arm, "and with a few days on healing and numbing potions, you should be right as rain... here we are." He tapped the prong with he wand and, grinning wide, jammed it into my elbow. I screamed. "Right, here's the numbing potions, and I'll show you how to take care of your new arm. Here is what connects to the docking joint. I suggest, for the first sixth months, that you take it out at night and put it back on in the morning, after which point you can decide whether you prefer to have it in or not while you sleep..."

Healer Weston continued on this strain and had me practice attaching and taking out my "arm". That was when I decided that all Healers were at least closet sadists. He commented on how "the Potter luck had struck again" because I had the rotten luck to lose an arm, but it was so "convenient" that I lost it at the elbow since it was the best place for a docking joint to go in the first place. A "mild fortune" he had called it, though I much preferred the phrase "pain in the arse."

The next two weeks were spent working with my new arm, testing it to see how well I could conduct magic with it and get used to using it for everything. I didn't take it out to sleep though. After all, after two weeks of being completely armless, I had gotten used to sleeping on my back without rolling over (as that agitated the wound), and the taking on and off would only prove a nuisance at school.

What I hated about that arm was that it did everything I could do with a real arm. I could cast spells, throw around a Quaffle, everything... but I couldn't _feel_ it. The sensation of a warm breeze swirling around my hand as magic bled into my wand was just... _gone_. I hated it, not being able to touch my wand. Sure the arm could pick it up and hold him, spin it between the plastic fingers as dexterously as my own always did, even cast every spell in my arsenal (which, after talking to Uncle Remus, I found out was very impressive for someone not yet twelve. But, really, what else had Tom wanted me to do except learn, get ins with the "right" people (though I found I still liked them without Tom's assent), and kill muggle born students?) but I couldn't feel the smooth ash in my hand nor the annoying not set in the handle. That arm... I hated it more than I ever could Voldemort.

Hate was not too strong of a word either. I loathed that piece of metal and plastic. It signified so many things to me! I couldn't Keep anymore at school or even dream of doing it professionally, that I could never be normal. Sure, I had always wanted to be special, a secret desire that I barely even recognized, to stand apart from Harry's shadow, but just then... I didn't want it very much at all. The large oak directly behind the house took the brunt of my anger.

Sure, at the Pitch at home I could Keep against Dad, provided I was careful not to jolt my "arm" as the wound was still tender. At home I was, to an extent, treated normally, at least by Dad. He decided, after I had had my arm for a couple of days, to pretend nothing had happened, and I liked that. He didn't seem to think I was going to break, and that was what I wanted! I wanted to be treated like a_regular person_, not a glass plate!

However, where Dad understood, Harry was, of course, the exact opposite. He held me at arm's length, never apologizing for what he had done in his haste, but always fussing over me instead, as though that would make me forget. He had even told Springy to "make sure that Charlus is always comfortable"! I could make myself plenty comfortable!

I ignored him, eventually, in favor of my animagus studies. I compiled my notes, going over them again and again, looking up some new theories in the library at home, and on July 13th I sat down to find my form.

Meditating is very difficult and boring work. It took me three hours (which felt like eternity) to connect in the method that my notes suggested. Occlumency sped up the process a lot, allowing me to block everything out, but it was still ridiculous! When I came out of it, I found it had been another half hour, when it felt like less than half a minute.

It just so happened that I _liked_ my form. My form was ten times better than any gerbil! The fur was a dark orange, only a few shades lighter than my own hair, and on top just as messy, the paws and tail tip were white. Green eyes with a brown center ring stared back at me, and I was pleased. In the... dream state, I suppose, I saw that my form had all four normal legs, and my elbow tickled.

A fox! I was a fox animagus! When I looked it up later that day, I found out that foxes were sly and inquisitive, that they could sneak as well as any snake and were great at surviving, and yet they still new how to play and have fun. It was like a perfect mix between Slytherin qualities (which, aside from just over half the house being blood crazed lunatics, I had stopped minding even on my own) and some Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tossed in. They were not proud creatures, like a stag, or distrustful like a rat, but still wary. I was a handsome young fox with a grin. I hadn't really felt terribly inclined to grin myself until just then.

When I was out of the trance, I really was smiling, resolute to go do my research on my form. The smile was foreign and made my face ache, but I didn't shove off the happiness behind occlumency shields. I liked having a reason to smile. A knock broke my reverie.

"Charlus, floo in the parlor for you," Harry informed me as he popped his head through the door, looking concerned. "D'you need any help getting there or-"

"You cut of my _arm_, Harry," I cut him off evenly, "not my leg or my head. I should like to think that walking down a set of stairs is within my capabilities. So who stuck their head in the fire for me?"

Harry seemed taken aback. Usually when he mother-henned I would just yell at him instead of using any of Tom's training. And, really, it had been training. Voldemort's Guide to Survive Slytherin for Half-Bloods sounded just about right. Although, the fact that _Voldemort_ was a half-blood, heck, a half-blood with a lesser bloodline than my own... the hilarity hit me just as I was sliding down the banister to the ground floor. I laughed as I entered the parlor and sat on an ottoman to face the face in the fire: Neville.

"'Lo Nev," I greeted as I plopped down. "Long time no talk."

"Yeah," Neville looked slightly ashamed and nibbled his lip for a second. "Listen, I wanted to invite you to my birthday party. We really ought to patch up. I really do understand why you were how you were last year, what with having You-Know-Who in your mind and all... and since you never responded to any of my letters-"

"Letters?" I was having a bad run of interrupting people that day. I looked at my friend oddly. "I haven't gotten any letter outside of the school letter in a year, and that was given to me by Aunt Minerva. Harry only just started getting letters last weeks for that matter."

A moment's pause.

"What are you talking about?" Neville had his "help me, I'm confused" look about him, head tilted to the left and brows furrowed. "I must have sent you five owls last summer, and a few more over the year! I sent one when you left for your... er... recovery, too."

I blinked. Well, that was unexpected. "Either you're lying, or someone's deliberately blocking my mail. Now that I think on it, the second is really making a lot of sense," I paused. "Anyway, the party sounds like fun. It always is. 'Course, Harry and I are having ours a day late this year since.. well, you know." I didn't feel the need to say it. The anguish was all shuffled away by occlumency, but that didn't stop it from spiking up. I didn't want to see the pity in Neville's gaze, which was already too much because of that damned "arm". The rest was I didn't want to further ruin my good mood.

"Right," Neville nodded, not catching my sudden lack of enthusiasm, "you should get someone to look into that owl situation. It might be good for you to actually _get_ your letters, yeah?" He chuckled and said his departing remarks.

"If I can," was all I replied before his head left the grate.

I did fell guilty. I had let Neville think that Tom – no, Voldemort – had kept me from socializing with the group. But... it was a choice that _I_ had made, not he, and yet I still wanted them for friends. I had been misinformed, certainly. Perhaps that, then, was it? I hadn't wanted them a year before due to a lack of correspondence, and when I knew that they had tried, just as I had, I liked them again? I had no clue really, and I still don't. Later I would wonder how I could spend a year petrifying muggleborns and still be friends with two of the petrified. I never did find out.

However, this brought up several questions about the entire affair. Like what was going on with Harry's and my mail? No, just mine now, really. Harry was getting his letters again, but I went without. Neville would have sent any get-well-cards or anything of the sort right after I left, late June. Maybe my mail was unstopped? It wasn't, actually, but I had hoped.

* * *

August the first came quickly after that. Neville's birthday party had been fun, the usual swimming party, all though there was a game of tickle-charm tag that I had almost won, wince the charms would sometimes hit my "arm" (which, as I've said, allowed for no sensation, and so we were never really sure if I had been hit or not on those occasions) and some nice rounds of Quid (which I always lost). It was, really, a lot of fun and helped to keep my mind off of everything even as I had to take care in drying my "arm" after the last game of Marco Polo. 

The anniversary of Mum leaving was, conversely, long and sad. Dad, who had been fun and forcing himself out of his rut since Harry and I had escaped the Chamber of Secrets, had gone back to the melancholy man of last summer, sans alcohol. No longer the jokey father of the past month and a half, he just stared at a wall all day, or his photo album. Times like that, I thought it might have been better if Mum had just died, because then there was no hope she'd come back and we might have just gotten over it. It was some way for Harry and I to remember our 13th birthday, and that was why I disliked them. We couldn't be happy to be born on that day because that was when Mum just up and left, and without us she might not have. I had interpreted her letter to mean I was at fault, too easily, though I knew it wasn't my fault by then. While I whiled my time away reading and Dad moped, Harry was in the kitchen, cooking. He called it a mindless task, and I wondered, again, why and how.

Still, that day had come and gone, and everything returned to the "happy time" as Harry and I celebrated our 13th birthday. Dad had out brooms, Quidditch balls, a football (soccer) field, and just about anything up to and including a moon bounce to entertain the swarm of 13 year olds that attended while the adults talked.

There were 14 kids present outside of Harry and myself (being Emmalie Lupin (who had celebrated her first birthday in March), the newborn Tyler Black, Neville, Hermione, Hannah, Theodore, Rebecca, Daphne, Terry, Ernie, and the Weasley children (minus Percy, who was "too old" for kids' parties, what with being Head Boy and all)), and yet it was still terribly hectic. Everyone could be everywhere at once, it seemed, and I was starting to get an ache in my "arm". I wasn't allowed anymore painkillers either "incase I became addicted", so I could do nothing about it. That was very annoying.

Despite that little set back, the party was amazing. I split my time between my two groups of friends; Neville, Hannah, and Hermione understood that they hadn't made any effort after I didn't reply to any letters and that my being possessed hadn't really given me incentive to talk to them, so I would have other friends. Theodore, Daphne, and Rebecca still accepted me because I was still a proper Slytherin, not letting my emotions take the wheel even when my arm had been cut off (even if I was rather cross). Apparently, possession by Voldemort didn't count against me, and my arm was no great set back to them. Rebecca had even gone so far as to proclaim the hunk of junk "wicked."

I gave her an incredulous look. "Wicked? Becca, it's a big piece of metal and plastic. How is that at all 'wicked'?"

"It just is," was the calm reply. And then talk turned immediately to Transfigurations and several entertaining accidents we had heard about before we somehow split up (though how, none of us could recall) and I found my self among the more pitying guests.

After gifts (which, for once, Harry and I had equal amounts of since Dad had remembered to weed through the fan mail for once), I noticed something was off. Ron was on the Quidditch Pitch without Harry. Where had my reluctant twin run off to? I snuck away from the party as Aunt Rainbow (calling her Tonks when it wasn't her name anymore was just stupid) started doing color tricks to amuse everyone to great guffaws.

It was in the stables (unused and smelly as they were) that I managed to locate Harry. He wasn't alone either, and I was confused to say the least. Who could it be, when only he and I were missing from the celebration?

" – Yes, I'm completely serious!" Harry seemed rather indignant over whatever the topic was. "What can't I tell them like that? They're different from all the people you know too! I mean, _you're_ married, with a child and everything! I'd say that's bloody well different, wouldn't you? But I really do prefer the real you. He's too _serious_ – don't you dare say it! – about everything, or has been since Mum left. You have to understand, I think I know them all by now. It should go over _fine_ my way!"

"Harry, I've been down that road before," The other person snorted. It was a man, perhaps middle aged. The voice was gruff, with a light tone of laughter, and dark (if a voice _can_ be dark, his was), a bit like Uncle Sirius' brother Regulus' voice, really. But why would he even be here, let alone in the stable? "That curtain sent me to too many places that had this sort of situation; I think _I_ should know how these things ought to be handled by now. I had Riddle look into it for me! And, anyway, the poem says – "

"Bollocks to the poem!" Harry snapped angrily. I was still hung up on the bit about "Riddle". There was only one wizard by that name. Why was Harry associating with someone who had Riddle "look into" things? But I continued to listen in on the conversation, knowing, as any good Slytherin ought, that I could find out a lot more if I just listened. "You're here to stay! Who cares about any stupid poems! We've been over this Snuffles, you may have been to worlds, but I've got experience in _this_ one! I don't care if you've got some stupid test hanging over your head!"

"I'm here to be tested, and then I'm here forever, or at least with you," he sighed. "I'm to be with 'those of my heart and my mind', which means that I will be with those I consider family, and they will be a lot like what I lost. But I do have to take this test, whatever it is! For all I know it could just be a singing competition or it could have been breaking out of Azkaban again."

"Who cares about Azkaban," Harry groaned. There was a thunk, no doubt signaling him smacking his head on the wall. "It's great that you get to be the eternal first escapee and everything, but... you really haven't explained anything at all as to why I _can't_ explain how I want to."

Then, I really did burst into the stables. Escaping Azkaban; it had to be the man from the paper! And why should Harry be talking to him at all? He was dangerous! The man broke into the Department of Mysteries without anyone noticing! The reason that there would be Dementors at Hogwarts. I _had_ to do something. There was no way in Hell I would let someone hurt my brother!

"Stupefy!" I shouted as I rolled into the stall, wand held before me. There was no tingle of magic at my fingertips, seeing as I had none, but as I cast, the tingle was instead where I supposedly had a curse scar. That made me feel a bit better, for a moment.

That tingle, however, was quickly thrust out of my mind. As I shot my spell at the Azkaban escapee, Harry actually jumped into my line of fire! Not only that, but he cast an advanced shield charm to block my spell while a rather ragged, but well-fed-looking man held a wand lazily aloft, as though only slightly wary of me. Why should he be? I was just barely thirteen after all. Easy prey.

"Damn it!" Harry groaned as he sunk back onto the straw. I was taken aback. He rarely swore, usually. "I knew I should have cast an Imperturbable charm."

I just _looked_ at him and said, very slowly, "Harry, there's an escaped convict behind you. Shouldn't we be, oh, I don't know, say, running to tell Dad or Sirius about it?" My brother was insane! My wand remained trained on the figure behind him. Harry _looked_ back at me.

"Well," Harry sighed, "I guess I can test my method now, can't I?" He sent what appeared to be a smug look to the now-exasperated man behind him, who I could have sworn muttered a "here we go again" under his breath. "Charlus, allow me to introduce you. This is my Godfather, Lord Sirius Orion Black, traveler of dimensions. Sirius, this is my twin brother, Charus."

In the moment's silence a twitch developed below my right eye.

"Well," the convict said calmly, "he certainly looks like Prongs' spawn."

I passed out. Again.

* * *

Author's Note: Whoo! Got this one out on time! Yayness. I spent my Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning (we had a delay due to not-terribly-frosty roads) typing this, mind, so I feel I'm rather nice. No doubt you all know what I'm doing with Sirius (I've talked about The Misadventures of Snuffles often enough), so I won't bother mentioning that. Since I've got both stories planned to completion (I had originally intended for that to be a drabble, and this... well, I didn't know where I was going until chapter 6 actually) I interweave them in weird ways. Trust me, it's actually kinda cool. 

On that note, chapter 1 of TMoS has **MAJOR** spoilers for this story that don't actually get shown from this end until the end of May or Beginning of June, so read chapter 1 at your own risk (it's okay, things will still make sense). I'll be posting it Friday maybe, but I'm not sure yet. I'm not even a quarter way done, and I need to do my research project for History on Edgar Allen Poe (Inspiring Emo Kids Everywhere), so don't expect it. I do intend to have it out by finals though (January 30-February1), even with studying... I'm so glad I've got far enough in this that it's only typing that week

Yes, Charlus has a false arm. Don't ask, don't criticize, it's IMPORTANT. So is having his mail blocked. Really. I swear.

Also, Harry is going to tell this Marauder family about his little adventure. Sirius is experienced with these things by now, he knows how it all works and that hiding it always bollixes things up in the end. He's been around the worlds a few times, okay?

I need a beta! I have my idea beta, but I need someone to check my spelling and grammar. Please?

Aside from that... is there anything else? No one asked questions about chapter 11, so I'm assuming that's covered...

Have a good week and a nice Day off on Martin Luther King Jr. day! I'm going shopping that day... Muhahaha! (actually, I loathe shopping for clothes, but its my dad's xmas gift to me, so... yeah –rolls eyes–)


	14. Seriously Beyond Coincidence

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 13**

**Seriously Beyond Coincidence**

**"The part always has a tendency to reunite with its whole in order to escape from its imperfection."**

**Leonardo Da Vinci**

.Harry Potter.

I'll admit that, when I cut off Charlus's arm, I wasn't feeling the least bit guilty. It was an arm; Madam Pomfrey or the St. Mungo's healers could re-grow it easily. If a single potion (no matter how foul tasting it was) could re-grow all the bones in my arm, it couldn't be too hard to take care of an arm complete with flesh and blood, right?

As it turns out, that was just the case. It was so hard, in fact, that it was impossible, even by magical means. The guilt began to hit. Said emotion only increased when Charlus woke up the next day, because _that_ was when I found out that he was left handed. How could I have not noticed? And my memory... well, maybe it was wrong. Just because I saw him doing something right handed once, it didn't mean he wasn't left handed. I hadn't even given the matter two thoughts before I heaved the blade down on him. "For the Greater Good" gave me a lot of guilt.

During one of his hospital days, while I was visiting, I noticed that there was a scar where the skin had grown over his wound, just where the bone would be. A curse scar, I was sure. I had told Dumbledore that it was just a dark spell that had struck the sword as it fell, but I wasn't stupid. That green light, I'd seen it often enough. For that matter, I never intended to tell anyone about just what had happened, because of how having a curse scar always made me feel. People stared at curse scars, because it meant something to them. Sometimes it was a matter of fear, or perhaps awe. He would already have people staring at his arm, but to do so because of a curse scar from the Killing Curse? I couldn't do that to him. I wouldn't.

Later, I would realize what I had really done by keeping my silence. I had stolen Charlus's glory! His spotlight was mine and mine alone, because I didn't want to share the attention of the Wizarding World! The shock that this thought gave me... Merlin, I never expected that I really _wanted_ to be the Boy-Who-Lived. If people knew that my brother had a scar much the same of my own, I would have to share. When did I become so selfish? Well, maybe I always had been, but then I would think I deserved whatever my vice, because of my sacrifice.

However, that knowledge was a while in coming. It was over a year before I realized that I was, as Snape had always said, "an attention seeking brat." But could I be blamed for it? I grew up in an abusive household where the only attention I got was negative, and eventually I got to the point where I could stand the positive and enjoy it properly. I enjoyed being a child and getting that positive attention in a form I could appreciate. Any child – even one who was an adult, mentally – would have issues after all of that, but now I had a _family_. I wanted to be the center of attention, the loving attention of family, just like any kid. That, I felt, was how my life should have been; not hiding away in a cupboard. When I finally had all of that, I ignored fate, history, and the knowledge that I wasn't really home to just bask in it.

In my first days, almost two years before then, I had wondered idly at what had happened to this world's Harry. Was he living in my body, a mental case? Was there a whole strand of swapped Harry's, and he was shunted off into another of my minds? If I hadn't come, would Mum have left? Then, the question I always tried to repress: was this even real? They all struck me again in the remaining two weeks before the school year let out; and if everyone took my quieting down, they would think it was for worry of my brother - so be it.

Back to the subject at hand, I suppose.

The last day of school, when everyone was boarding the trains, everyone was abuzz with the latest news from the Daily Prophet, but I ignored it. It was when we got home after Charlus had had his new arm installed that I finally picked up the paper, intending only to pull out the comics section, except that I saw the front page story. I hadn't looked at the paper since January, except to grab the cartoons, or perhaps the sport section, but when I saw that front page article I greatly regretted it.

_'Breakout in Azkaban!_

_Department of Mysteries Intruder Escapes_

_Last night, the mysterious intruder from the Department of Mysteries escaped from the island prison of Azkaban,_ writes Legal Section Correspondent Andrew Lacquer. _According to the guards of the high-security prison, he was reported to be heard muttering in his sleep about none other than Harry Potter, and it believed that the convict, despite his mysterious knack for diverting all questions during interrogations previous to incarceration, has let out his primary directive despite this._

_Wizarding folk are to proceed with caution, as any wizard capable of escaping the "inescapable" prison without a wand is no doubt dangerous and perhaps with an outside accomplice. A special warning goes to our own Boy Who Lived and his family to keep safe from this madman...'_

There was a picture following that statement, and I gasped. I knew that face, even unconscious. It couldn't be though, could it? Sirius – _my Sirius_, I corrected myself quickly – had fallen through the Veil and died, but the man in the picture, the one who had just broken out of Azkaban, was unmistakably Sirius Black as I knew him: a slightly deranged man with tangled long hair, too-large pupils, and older than the suddenly-uptight man that might have taken over his place. And he had the whole maniacal laughter thing going on again. As soon as I saw that one photo of him being led from the Department of Mysteries, laughing his head off, opening his eyes and sending a grin at the camera, I knew it had to be him. And I had to write him.

So, naturally, I did. The letter was sent along with Hedwig (I still reveled at the mere thought of having my old friend back and alive) and addressed to Snuffles, who I told her was really Sirius, yet different.

Unfortunately, that little tidbit didn't stick, as the Sirius that I had come to know and bemoan a bit over the past two years (unless this "place" really was a dream world. I had been there for two years, and felt actual sensations and been able to run from my terrors, so I assumed that it was a world) entered my room with a quick rapping of his knuckles, my letter clutched in his hand. Hedwig was resting on his shoulder, seeming happy at her job well done. I wanted to smack my head on my desk, where I had been idly doodling pictures of Sirius eating Wormtail. And I did.

"Oh, so I take it you _do_ know why I'm here then?" Sirius perked an eyebrow at me and placed his hand against my forehead to stop my smacking it again. "And that you didn't mean for me to get this letter... and yet you addressed it to me and sent it with your own owl. Interesting." He then held up the letter, coughed to clear his throat, and began to read what I had written two days before. "'Dear Sirius, this is Harry! I was shocked when I read the Prophet this evening – I just got out of school for the year today, by the way – and saw that article about you on the front page. Not only are you here (how did that happen anyway? And where, precisely, is here, do you know?) but you'd been tossed into Azkaban again! I live at #7, Mane street, in Godric's Hollow (it's the big beige mansion, I don't think you can miss it). I hope to see you soon, Harry J. Potter. PS: We have a lot to talk about, I should think.' Now then, godson of mine, care to tell me why you think I'm an escaped convict, and why you should be writing to me in such a manner if I were one?"

I glared at him and started to hit my head on the desk again, but he stopped me once more. "I'll explain after I've sent the letter to its _proper_ recipient. I'd prefer it if he didn't have to live off of rats again, especially since he had to spend time with those stupid soul suckers." Okay, so I really needed to think things through more, as my statement piqued Sirius' interest. That was one of few times in my entire life where I longed for the days when I was habitually ignored.

"Oh, so you're writing the Azkaban escapee, are you? And you think he's me?" Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes as he sat on my bed. "Really now, Pronglet, I'd have to wager the man was a top Death Eater out for some recognition, perhaps even Voldemort's right hand, and thinks getting rid of you will bring him fame or his Lord back to life. That's the point of the wards, you know, to keep his sort out. James doesn't want to let angry Death Eaters at you just for the sake of it you know, especially the ones as mad as that one no doubt is. If he was able to break into the Department of Mysteries and out of Azkaban without getting caught quickly, I've no doubt he is exceedingly dangerous. So why risk your neck?"

I wanted to laugh, scream, anything! He'd just called his alternate self Voldemort's right hand in a tone that was meant to make _me_ feel guilty for inviting him over. I recalled him being a lot more fun last summer, at the start... but he was never the same as my Sirius. He wasn't stuck as a perpetual teenager in my mind like my godfather; he was _responsible_. Then, when Mum left, he became totally un-fun. Even Dad was able to be happy now! Shouldn't he be glad that everyone was getting over it and start acting himself again instead of Mr. Strict-Arse Auror? It all made me miss my real godfather that much more.

Instead of doing anything that I felt like doing, I managed to answer calmly, somehow. I even managed to keep my face straight. "Because he's Sirius Orion Black of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, and he escaped Azkaban in my best interests, at least the first time..." I paused, thinking. He wouldn't know I was here, but he might know what had happened to me. "So now you know. May I be released from this interrogation of yours now? I'm sure Cynthia and Tyler need your attentions."

Being surprised, he didn't fight me when I took Hedwig back and sent her off with the letter saying to take it to the _other_ Sirius Black.

"Explain, now," Sirius said sternly when Hedwig was gone. I gave him my best "I'm in charge" look that I had practiced while teaching DADA at Hogwarts. It didn't work, mind, but it was the effort that counted, really.

"I'll tell you the same time I tell everyone else that I want to, I'm sure," was my response. I left him in my room and went out back to fly just to get away from anymore questions he thought to throw at me. Darn doubles. Honestly, I probably would have preferred if Sirius had done the whatever-I-did by overtaking his other self, even if it all would have been very confusing (and he would have swapped or whatever under similar situations to myself, I was sure, as he had actually escaped Azkaban when Tyler was born... though he had apparently been wherever here was since early April). Now I would have to tell Dad and Charlus at least about "Snuffles", because I wouldn't let Sirius live just outdoors until his name was cleared, or just in either. They would have to know if I was keeping him about, and how I knew him.

Then, I thought as to _why_ I hadn't told them right off the bat about it all... I thought they wouldn't like me if they knew I wasn't rightfully theirs. I dived down and scraped the grass with my toes, sighing. Why couldn't my life ever be simple? It was natural to worry about that, since I wasn't the Harry they had been with for eleven years, and that I was in my twenties instead of almost thirteen. I had never even met any of them until 1991! They were bound to shun me, to demand what I had done with the _real_ Harry James Potter and try to exorcise me or something.

.Sirius Black (of canon-land).

In my canine form I wandered a road in Northern Ireland. I was beyond confused! That last jump, fall, whatever it was to be called, should have brought me home, to my own Universe. How many worlds must a man save before he may go home? How many times must he go through hell and back again? 42. Forty-sodding-two. And I did! So why hadn't Dumbledore, Harry, or Remus sprung me? The poem – prophecy – said that I would be reunited with "those of my heart and mind", and I'd be damned if I didn't get to have my godson back at least!

I was steaming for about a week after my escape before a snowy owl with intelligent amber eyes fluttered in front of me. Hedwig! I knew this owl as well as if she were my own (Rest In Peace Tony, you were a good owl); Harry's faithful Hedwig. He hadn't forgotten me. Thank Merlin!

Hedwig and I hid behind a bush on the road when I transformed back into myself to take the latter, quickly reading it through. It was brief, not overly personal, and addressed, on the outside, to Snuffles. The writing was Harry's, though neater, but that was to be expected, wasn't it? It had been five years on my end, _five years!_ Who knew how long for him. I hoped that Remus had acted as a good alternate-godfather in my stead, but who could know, really? My lycanthropic friend may have died for all I knew! Hopefully taking Wormtail with him, though I knew well enough to not get my hopes up.

However, what really surprised me was that he was living in the Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow. It was on the very outskirts of the town, the end opposite from where the old cottage was, and in a strict Wizards-only section that housed the Potter Manor and the old Prewett homestead as the only homes of note, though not far up the road one could find the Dumbledore house, and further down the home that the Hogwarts Headmaster had built after everything that had happened with his sister. The fact that Harry lived there, even knew the place existed, meant he must have been at least twenty three or twenty four, since the Potter family vault was time locked for that time, and he actually had to ask after it.

Thinking hard on the location of my favorite wizarding home (having lived there during a few summers during my own school days and spending varied periods of time there in various universes), I apparated into the middle of the Hollow Wood, about ten meters from the den of Tala, James's familiar, and her family. I changed back into Padfoot, watching as Hedwig flew through the trees before me, and loped along behind her for a half of a kilometer before reaching the back field of the Manor.

I was surprised to find that, after I rounded the last of trees, there was a boy a few meters off slinging curses angrily at a tree. He was a bit shorter than average with dark auburn hair placed a bit messily atop his head and the distinct Evans green eyes, I noticed when he turned to look at me. He couldn't have been more than thirteen, maybe younger, but he turned back to the tree with a scowl. He actually looked a fair bit like Harry, but had a rounder face and no glasses. Was he Harry's son? Judging by the kid's age, and if he really were Harry's, at least fifteen or sixteen, probably more, years would have passed in my five. Harry as a father... he would be good at that, though he'd spoil any child rotten. And I couldn't imagine him teaching any child of his curses like _those_ (the boy sent a border line dark curse at the tree).

Said boy turned to me once more and rolled his eyes, making me realize I'd been staring. He scowled again and looked at his left hand – his wand hand judging by how it had been the hand he slung curses with – and my gaze followed. A false arm! How could such a young kid have a fake arm? He ignored me once more in favor of slinging curses. Judging by the way he moved, the arm was new, and he was probably testing out his skill with spell casting with it. At least he wasn't some anti-tree nutter. Certainly explained why he was scowling like that; I had been told once that casting spells without feeling the "tingle" of magic was the worst feeling imaginable.

With a doggy-sigh I trotted over to the house, suddenly stopping when I was about ten meters from the back door. The reason? A thirteen year-old Harry Potter clone had flung it open with a wide grin like I had only seen on the real Harry's face when I offered him a place to live. He was identical to the boy I had seen getting on the Knight Bus with the exception that he was very much well fed (even to the point that he had chubby cheeks) and wearing some dark blue summer robes.

"Snuffles!" Even the voice was Harry's (pre puberty of course) that called from the boy's lips. I ran to him and received a hug around the neck in reward. Could this be my Harry somehow? If so, why should he be so small? And, if not, how did he know me by that name? Why would the Fates send me to a Harry who wasn't mine? "I'm so glad you're here. Follow me, we'll talk in my room."

Surprised, I followed him. This was, at least, a Harry. Maybe the me of this world was also on the run. This thought dropped my mood considerably. But, if this were the case, who did Harry live with at the Potter Manor? What adult kept him and the red haired boy? If it wasn't me that looked after them here, than who? Surely not a James, else the me of this world wouldn't be a convict...

"Harry!" I knew that voice! Merlin, I really knew that voice.

"Yeah, Uncle Sirius?" Harry called back, jogging quickly over the hard floors to the wide door of the Potter Dining Hall. Two figures stood there; James Potter and Sirius Black. But, if they were there, how did this Harry know Snuffles? I had known so many James's and a few more Sirius's, but no James was my James, and no Sirius was me. Harry was always "a Harry", not "mine". My good mood was gone completely now, and I walked doggedly behind the Harry.

"Have you seen the paper?" James asked. "Sirius said he's in it today, about a new catch, but I can't find it." I was hiding in a small alcove so as not to be seen. They wouldn't know I was here, and seeing a Grim stalking the boy might be a bit much.

"Charlus was reading it in the Library this morning. I'm sure Springy will get it for you," Harry volunteered. "I'll be in my room if you need me." This James smiled and walked back into the Dining Hall, calling for Springy, but the Sirius didn't move, his eyes locked on my alcove. "Later." Sirius nodded at his godson's word, and turned on a heel after the James. I didn't like him already; he was too serious. "C'mon Snuffles. To my room!"

I was led further and up the main staircase to the second floor that I had known so well. We entered a room that had actually been mine when I stayed with the Potters during my Hogwarts years. It was very much different of course. The walls were sky blue with a painted snitches flitting between the clouds, the bedspread and floor different shades of green, and the wood was all Mahogany rather than the distinct Gryffindor and oak theme the Potters had set up for me. Still, I could easily tell it to be a very "Harry" room, down to the picture of his parents, himself, and the red haired boy (with a regular flesh and blood arm) sitting on the bedside table.

"You can morph back now," I jumped as Harry said this, but complied. He let out a low whistle and allowed a sad smile to grace his face. "Well, you really aren't just 36 anymore, are you? You must have spent a while away... Kinda makes me wonder though..."

I blinked. 36? This must have been a dimension and time hopping Harry then. He probably had his Sirius murdered in the Department of Mysteries or somewhen around that time. "Wonder what?"

"When I went against Voldemort, I asked you if it hurt to die. You said no, and well, you were right." He laughed sadly for a moment, throwing his arms around my neck. "You're always right, now that I think about it. I should have tried the mirror instead of believing stupid old Kreacher. I should have tried harder for Occlumency... not that Snape was teaching my properly... and I am an Occlumens now, but a bit too late. Now though, I'm here, and you're here, wherever 'here' is, and everything is going to be great, right?"

"You died?" I was horrified. And who could have told him it didn't hurt? If he was mine, I couldn't... maybe the Sirius whose wand I had? He had always been my favorite me, and it sounded like something he would say. As quick as falling asleep was how he would put it, I knew. He died as quick as falling asleep under the Killing Curse. I helped him escape Azkaban... and he was the only Sirius I would ever trust my Harry with. But this wasn't my Harry, now was it?

"Kind of," Harry shrugged against me, breaking me out of my reverie as he pulled away. It was odd to talk to him like this, a kid! "But I took down Voldemort just fine and finished school a year late with Ginny. Then we raised Remus and Tonks' son, Teddy, and we were going to have our first child, a boy, but I just... well, I dunno what happened, really. I blinked in the Hospital Room and found myself in Potions class of all things!"

"That's a new one," I responded. It was true. No Harry that I had met would shift dimensions without explanation (well, except the one in worlds three and twenty, but he was just odd... and clingy), there was always something. He looked at me oddly. "Well, you're the first Harry that I have met to have a finished war with such an obviously good outcome and still go to another world. Usually there's no hope, or the Harry will have lost too much in the war, and will come back in time or to another dimension through some ritual or another, oft times both. There have been accidents of course, and once a Harry even went through the Veil... but yours is already different and you've hardly told me anything at all!"

"I... what?" The poor boy looked so confused. "Sirius, what happened the first time we met?"

"Not sure about you and your Sirius," and that was true, as the method often varied, "but I grabbed Ron Weasley to get his rat, Scabbers, who just so happened to be a man in disguise. Ron was a friend of my Harry and his Hermione, and my Harry tried to kill me in the Shrieking Shack. There was then an adventure involving werewolves, dementors, an illegal time turner, a convicted Hippogriff, and ended in me flying off into the night. Woot." I whirled my right index finger in the air by my ear in mock enthusiasm. He couldn't be my Harry. "How did I die?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange cursed you and you fell back," Harry responded, looking suddenly down at his feet, which were criss-crossed on the bed we'd been sitting at. "Remus wouldn't let me get you back. But then I used the Resurrection Stone, and you didn't blame me for it, even though it was my fault." No mention of the Veil or the Department of Mysteries. But why was I sent to the wrong Harry? "Death by curtain..." My head snapped to. Curtain? Could he mean the Veil? I was the only Sirius convicted of anything to fall through the Veil without being killed. Harry didn't say that I died before; his statement implied that the Veil itself killed me.

"The Veil?" I asked quickly on a gasp. "The Door of Eternity? The Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries? You saw a convict Sirius fall through without a Killing Curse?"

"My Sirius was knocked in by a red spell," Harry affirmed. I was ecstatic! Quickly, I lunged and brought him into a hug. My Harry!

Perhaps the deal _had_ won through. Perhaps, just maybe, if Harry was here, I really could have my second chance. No more dimension hopping. I could finally just stay with Harry and not just help to do something before jumping into the Veil again! No more Azkaban. Finally.

We spent the better part of the next month catching up, when Harry didn't have the obligation to go hang out with his friends, family, and brother. He told me about his whole life before and after he lost me, and I told him tales of the Marauders and our pranks, about the other worlds I had been to, but only the happier ones. He didn't have to know about the worlds where he was evil or where Dumbledore had taken over the World like he had plotted in his love for Grindelwald. I told him about the 42 universes, and he told me about his life. It was a good month.

One day, I finally asked him why. Why he didn't tell his family about what had happened, that they were housing an escaped criminal (he had mentioned, off handedly, that the letter had originally gone to the Sirius of here, but he didn't bother to go in depth on the man. It seemed we had similar opinions of him). I set him a date to tell them by, because trying to keep secrets like this from the family always ended badly. He chose the first of August.

.James Potter.

The boys' birthday party had just ended, about an hour earlier than planned really, because Charlus's arm had been aching (or so Harry said). It had been a nice party, if chaotic, and while I hadn't been overjoyed to see that Charlus had invited some of his housemates to it (I will admit that at that point I was not yet completely over my school boy prejudices), at least they were the neutrals. He was, after all, not getting friendly with the Malfoy boy, nor had either of my sons been idiots like me and immediately made enemies with the first disagreeable person they met. I didn't mind because of those small facts.

But, as I was saying, the party was over and, for Merlin only knew what reason, Harry had convinced Sirius, Remus, and myself to meet him in the parlor. My younger son had gone off to retrieve his brother, and so we sat to wait. He had been nervous, darn nervous, and only Sirius seemed to have any idea as to what was going on, waiting Harry's… whatever it was with bated breath. Obviously, Sirius had some idea, though he wasn't willing to share.

When Harry did enter, I was surprised. He was levitating an unconscious Charlus in front of him to lay on the couch, and had a large black dog, looking a bit older and thinner than Padfoot and a bit more lupine in the shape of his teeth and ears, at his heels. The dog licked Charlus' face, and Sirius stared on in wonder.

"That's him?" Sirius asked. He snapped his gaze to Charlus. "That's me? Snuffles, the one you were writing to? The one who escaped?" What was he talking about? However, Harry nodded and sat in the chair next to Charlus' couch, the dog jumping on his ottoman. "So, what is this supposed to be? Time travel? You're going to drive us all mad with paradoxes?"

"No," was Harry's simple reply. "Dimensions. If he were from the future I'm sure this would be a very different thing… er, well, he said that was what it was, I mean."

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Good old Remus. He was practicing his "teacher voice" I think, as he had been hired for the Defense instructor at Hogwarts this year up and coming, perhaps beyond if the curse had really been broken. The comment made Harry blush like a Weasley.

"And could you start by, say, bringing Chaz back to the conscious world? From the looks of things he fainted," Sirius offered. I was about to do it myself, as Harry wouldn't know the spell, but before I could draw my wand Harry had his own lifted and "ennervated" his brother. My brows shot up. Harry wasn't the sort to study ahead. He was just the sort that could see and do, as bad been proven time and time again in various classes. Extra study was just a hassle, so he rarely picked up any books... so when had he learned that spell?

Charlus stirred and sat quickly. When he looked around and caught sight of the dog, he squeaked and scuttled off the couch. His "arm" showed from beneath the green robes and I twitched. The older of my two sons had no arm and – according to the healer – a scar from when Voldemort had tried to kill him and Harry in the Chamber of Secrets. I was also starting to suspect that Harry was insane, perhaps even due to the scar that lay on his brow. Who really knew?

"What's wrong Charlie?" I pulled him from the floor with Remus' aid and sat him on the other cushion of the love seat that I had claimed as mine for the impromptu meeting.

"You mean aside from my brother being mad and that 'dog'," He made air-quotes around the word, "really being an escaped convict?" I stared from Charlus to the dog. He must have been kidding. The dog merely wagged its tail in response. "Absolutely nothing."

"It isn't _that_ bad!" Harry protested with a whine.

"Harry," Charlus gave one of his infamous _looks_. "You said he's _Sirius_. How is that 'not bad'?" Sirius?! But –

"Let him explain Chazzy boy," The voice was semi familiar, and the blurring from a mass of black fur to a man was very familiar, even if the man himself wasn't. The voice was rich, dark, and sounded a little bit higher than I was used to, but it fit the man's visage. A rather bony man, though well muscled, he looked like a Sirius gone _very_ bad. The hair was scraggly, as was the goatee, both black, but he looked considerably older than a man who was just a wizarding 33. The cheeks were sunken, the bones high and aristocratic under deep blue gray eyes that had slightly too-large pupils to give a manic look. A bony flaxen hand held the head lazily as the dark eyes flicked around the room with a gaunt smile. "After all, how many Grim animagi can there _possibly_ be?"

How could it be? I could see that it was Sirius. The eyes, though manic and hollow, were his. The hair was his even. This was a Sirius who had seen far too much, particularly of the Dementors. I didn't like him already. So why did he feel like something I'd lost?

"Um... well, after Snuffles here," Harry pointed to the escaped convict who lounged on the ottoman with completely effortless grace that I had known from Sirius all my life, "came up, he gave me some advice on how to deal with this whole... situation. I tried my way on Charlus, and, ah... well, I've decided to go with Snuffles' advice on this one.

"First off, I'm from a kinda-sorta future-slash-alternate dimensiony... thing... I guess. Not really sure, but Snuffles knows about all this and easily makes up for my lack of knowledge, though I had figured it out on my own. Where I'm from, James and Lily Potter died when I was a baby, Cheri Evans died of cancer, Charlus doesn't exist, and Sirius ended up framed for murder and tossed into Azkaban. I lived with the Dursleys because of that, and they are not a family you would ever want a magical child to live with.

"My Hogwarts years were just as extraordinary as this time. Hagrid introduced me to the Magical World, even bought Hedwig for me, and I went into first year, when Quirrell tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone while Voldemort stuck out the back of his head," Harry explained. I was surprised. It honestly didn't sound that horrible compared to the still-not-too-bad year that they had had. "Hermione was attacked by the Troll that time though, and that cemented her friendship with Ron and I. Second Year a house elf was stopping my mail. It turns out he was this time too, and he came to me in June about it... er, off topic, aren't I? Anyway, the Chamber opened and students were petrified. Ginny had Voldemort's soul fragment, but it never got her like it did Charlus; I took care of that by stabbing the diary with a fang from the basilisk after a killed it." Charlus sat stiff and tightlipped at this. Why did he seem so angry?

"Then, in my third year, Sirius," Harry jerked his thumb at the convict, "escaped Azkaban."

"The first of 42 escapes from prison," inserted the man in question.

"Everyone thought he'd betrayed you and Mum, but really it was Wormtail, as we found out at the end of the year. Remus taught Defense that year, and there were Dementors about to catch Sirius so he taught me the Patronus Charm to protect myself. In 1994, the Death Eaters attacked the world cup about two months before the start of the Triwizard Tournament. I was picked as the fourth champion along with Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Cedric Diggory. Moody was the defense professor and impersonated by Bartemius Crouch Jr., who entered me into the tournament where I fought dragons, swam to the bottom of the black lake, and went through a maze. At the end, Voldemort was resurrected and Cedric killed for tying with me.

"No one believed Voldemort was back though, so the Ministry had Hogwarts on a tight leash. I had visions from Voldemort all year, and in the end I was led to the Department of Mysteries where a prophecy about me and Voldemort was held. Sirius fell through the Veil. Then the next year I found out about horcruxes. I had already destroyed one in second year, and Dumbledore got one before that year started. We went after a third, and only after Dumbledore died that very day – he ordered Snape to kill him in a raid – did I find out it was a fake. After that Voldemort took over the Ministry and the school, Ron, Hermione and I found the horcruxes – one of them ought to be at Grimmauld Place, by the way – and Voldemort got himself killed by trying to kill me with a wand that was actually mine.

"Then I lived a perfectly normal life, married Ginny Weasley, raised Remus and Tonks' son, Teddy, and graduated the Auror Academy with honors in stealth. I taught Defense at Hogwarts long enough to break the curse, and when my first son was going to be born, I ended up in a first year Potions class sitting next to Ron with a very much alive Snape teaching us to brew some potion or another. I think the rest is self explanatory."

I was confused. Was this not my son? His body, well, Lily and I made that, but his mind... he was in his twenties before he arrived here. So I had an adult's mind in my son's body? And his Sirius was very different from the man I had known all my life. Ours was serious lately, and yet before me sat a Sirius Black who, despite a long time in Azkaban, seemed perfectly amicable.

Maybe it was all a dream. Merlin, I hoped it was a dream. I could just wake up and Harry would still be my son, not some saviour of a world who had spontaneously possessed my boy. It couldn't be real. Even for the wizarding world it was too impossible.

But Sirius, _my_ Sirius, not this "Snuffles" guy, didn't care to just sit and gape. He dove straight into questioning his apparent counterpart. What were the Azkaban weaknesses that allowed him to escape? What were the realities like? Why 42? They were answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I stood, squeezed the shoulder of my _son_ who sat beside me, and left the room. That damned Potter luck was screwing with my mind!

Author's Note: Okay... so this ended up being a LOT longer than it was! Seriously, I never even realized it was this long when I wrote it in November... wow O.O

For all things Sirius, read The Misadventures of Snuffles as it comes out (I'm actually going to update this weekend, I swear! None of my teachers will give out study guides for Finals next week yet anyway). James is surprised is all. No back turning. As my beta pointed out, it feels kind of like a book report when Harry explains. He is going quickly to avoid emotions when he explains, James is in shock over the whole "not the boy he raised" thing, Sirius wants to get the explanation promised, Charlus has a million thoughts whirling in his head and can't really sort them, and Remus is being reasonable and waiting to ask what questions come (as well as being gob smacked of course)

Thanks muchly to my beta, Konoha's Kage! I'm sure she catches a lot of typos (I type with one hand after all...)


	15. On Existence and Nefarious Plots

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 14**

**On Existence and Nefarious Plots**

**"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."**

**Douglas H. Everett**

.Charlus Potter.

It was all ludicrous. Absolutely, positively, _ridiculous_! Harry, the person I had spent the past two years at Hogwarts with, fighting on and off with, wasn't even my real brother. He was some sick facsimile that existed solely to screw with my mind! So far as he was concerned, I came into existence on Halloween, 1991. So far as_he_ cared, I was a figment of his bleeding imagination, because he dreamed of a family that involved siblings or some such rot! I was a figment of his imagination that was attacked by a mountain troll instead of his purported best friend, Hermione. Not to mention that, in place of his future wife (and how could he still think of Ginny that way? She was _twelve_, mentally _and_ physically), I was the one who was possessed by Tom Riddle, only worse. I was his imaginary scapegoat, now wasn't I?

He, "Harry," wasn't my brother, not by a long shot. My brother was a thirteen year old kid off who knows where, who was arrogant, had a pout for every occasion, loved pranking (I did too, for that matter, but I had hardly done any in the past two years), and could lie through his teeth to anyone not using legilimancy. _My brother_ was immature, loved attention, and hated getting gifts from people he didn't know.

This person was not my brother. This _person_ was arrogant, yes, and just as much a seeker as Harry, just as much of an attention hog, but he was not my brother. He was gleeful about every gift he got, and yet still magnanimous about all fan gifts going to Orphanages and charity. Though immature, he still carried himself like an adult at times, as if he were a Professor, and took everything for granted, yet seemed to think it was all going to leave him despite that. Harry was the most confusing being I had ever met, and he was most definitely _not_ my brother.

At this point, I would like to say that I exist. I'd like to think that I am a corporeal being with a mind of my own. Of course, I often had trouble thinking that others had the same reality in them, but that was not something uncommon, especially among kids. I had a good excuse for not quite realizing that others were just as real as me; Harry, however, was an adult. He couldn't see me as real despite the professed maturity and intelligence of adults, because I only started to exist when he first met me for real and found out I was his brother, supposedly. How could I be real to him, his brother of flesh, blood, and soul, when all we did was fight, and only half times the way he would think brothers do fight, being that the only real family he ever knew was the Weasleys? He wronged me at every turn, and I finally knew why.

I wasn't real.

Mum and Dad had been real though. He heard a lot about them, had seen photographs given to him, a couple memories, and his very _existence_ proved they were real. But he could never mourn Mum's disappearance like Dad and I did. He didn't know her, he'd never had a Mum, and so he functioned just fine. It would be the same with anyone else, surely. He grew up alone, fought alone, and if Dad and I died, he would mourn a bit, _maybe_, and move on. No more, but perhaps less, especially in my case. After all, who could mourn a dream? Obviously, he was at least half-convinced that this was all everything around him, everything in this world, _my_ world, ever was.

After the birthday shocker, Snuffles was openly living in the house, since Dad couldn't really object. In general, the man was a nice guy. He treated everyone like a real person, even made-up little me. Supposedly, I reminded him of his younger brother, Regulus, before he was scared into joining the Death Eaters, except that I was stronger. I took it as a compliment, though it made me think of how "Harry" no doubt saw me, and Tom's comments in our lessons. At least I knew he was real, even if the sentiments couldn't be reciprocated.

It was the fourth of August, three days into his stay, that I was sitting in my room, practicing my animagus transformation (having already researched my animal thoroughly) on my bed. My right arm grew red fur that was several shades lighter than that which was on my head, and my hand melded into a paw, but that was all that happened. It hurt, naturally, since I had yet to condition myself to the sensation, but I kept focus, ignoring my dismay at having my left arm not do anything whatsoever. But the inevitable happened. Snuffles came into my room without my notice while I was trying to press forward in the transformation. I didn't even realize anyone was there until my door clicked, causing me to lose concentration and my semi-paw to revert back into a human hand.

"Eep!" I squeaked (and yes, I do admit that I squeak when I'm startled), falling backward from my bed onto the thick blue carpeting. The man who caused such a start stood over me with a large grin.

"Finally! I was hoping someone would take up the Marauder mantle," he chirped happily. It was rather disturbing to hear such a crazy looking man (even when properly groomed he looked wild) _chirp_. Maybe it was the gleeful glint in those manic eyes, but I could tell he was excited, and not in the "I'm an evil escaped convict out for blood (insert evil laugh here) grr" kind of way. Perhaps that was when I actually started to like him. Even after spending twelve years in Azkaban, then on and off again for the past five, he still kept on going, for Harry. Whether he deserved that kind of devotion or not, it gave me hope for my unbrother.

"Er..." I was shocked, naturally. He seemed quite glad that I was attempting to become an animagus, but then, wouldn't he be encouraging Harry to become one instead of being so overjoyed that I was? After all, Harry was his godson, whereas I was just another kid from a reality he wasn't at home in.

"So, how far are you just yet?" Snuffles asked with enthusiasm, pulling me from the floor to start asking his question. "I'm guessing you already finished your research? If you were to try without the research... well, you wouldn't last long, I can tell you that." The man was absolutely hopping mad as he bounced up and down in excitement. A good mix of seriousness and childish enthusiasm was about the best way to describe the man. With horror, I realized I actually liked him better than my real brother's godfather.

"Trying to grow fur and paws," I stated, trying to tamp down my shock with occlumency. The walls could hide pretty much any emotion I came up with, luckily, though it was sometimes a close thing. Sure, repressing my emotions was supposedly very bad for me and I would probably end up breaking down eventually, but the way things had been going the past two years I wouldn't last that long. "I'm stuck at fusing my fingers together, and my legs are a total no go, not to mention this hunk of junk hasn't got anything going on. My research is very much complete of course, it was done in June. I had Voldemort's notes..." I trailed off. _Voldemort_ had shown me the animagus research. This meant he had probably mastered the transformation at some point. Seeing as how he was still about and bound to return, it was something to mention to my unbrother. "Voldemort's an animagus... crud."

"Who cares?" How could he be so nonchalant? Knowing Voldemort he was something very dangerous, like a pit viper or something! "He's never used his form in battle, so it's almost definitely harmless. Probably something embarrassing like a rabbit or a gerbil." I blushed, not giving away that I'd been afraid to be a gerbil animagus. "Or maybe he's a lion! That'd be horrid for the so-called Heir of Slytherin... Ooo! He could be a _badger_! He's a closet Hufflepuff!" The man soon broke into a giggle fit, falling onto my floor. He was barmy, of course, but _hilarious_ regardless of it.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but its Uncle Moony that's a rabbit animagus," I put in suddenly. Not really sure why I bothered, but his reaction was worth it. Snuffles burst into a laughing fit, a true blue "roll on the floor laughing so hard you can't breathe" sort of laughing fit. I didn't know that people could laugh so hard they hiccupped! Somewhere back in my mind I wondered if he was going to wet my floor. Hoped not. The scary bit was that he didn't stop for a good five minutes. He kept muttering "furry little problem" and snorting to himself after.

"So," he snickered, trying to tamp down the remaining laughs, "do you want any help with this? I wasn't half as far as you at your age, since we'd just started. Heck, since we had to sneak our research it took until the end of third year to get that done! I'm guessing yours is better though. Besides, I mastered the other forms well enough, and I think I've got some experience teaching. You up for it?"

In one world that Snuffles mentioned having gone to, he learned an archaic theory on animagus forms that was lost in the Dark Ages. Any one person with the capability to become an animagus would have four innate forms. First was the regular form, just a normal animal (such as my fox), and was usually the first form obtained. The next two forms were the maternal and paternal forms, to represent the parents' animagi latent in any wizard. Normally, a boy would have more trouble with his mother's form, and the opposite for a girl. These were almost always gained in the order of easiest to hardest after the first form. The fourth (and usually lastly obtained) form was the "magical guardian" as Snuffles put it. This was just as it sounded; a magical animal that a person thought of as "safety". The escaped convict wasn't wont to tell anyone his forms outside the "Grim", but I didn't care to speculate.

"I guess I could do with some help," I acquiesced. "Like I said, the paws are hard, and I can't do anything with my legs until I do the forelegs; it's supposed to have something to do with reactions in, like, the hippocampus or something like that, which makes the body want to start with the front, but still end in the head. Mostly it's my wand arm though," I lifted the appendage and scowled at it. It was because of "Harry" that I had an "arm"; both very fake parts of my potentially false existence. "It can't transform at all. My magic doesn't respond to it as 'me', so it's stuck as is, and Madame Pomfrey even said it can't be re-grown in any way. It'll be damned obvious who I am if people see a fox trying to move about with a _human_ prosthetic. Too awkward to move in."

"Then leave that arm for later." The advice was simple, annoyingly so. "It'll take you past Christmas to transform, unless your research was just _that_ amazing. The arm solution will come, I'm sure. Moody is a cougar animagus, and he's half prosthetic himself!"

"Registered cougar animagus," I corrected him, sitting straight and proud. "I'm carrying on the marauder legacy, like you said. I'm going to be an _illegal_ animagus. He can get his prosthetics charmed to be magically malleable, and even if I did intend to register, they still wouldn't. Who would want to help a thirteen year old kid to become an animagus? Outside Marauders and family, I mean." I wasn't actually sure about family, especially "Harry" (he wasn't one after all, and would probably have me help him understand my notes to slow me down), but at least Snuffles was going for it, and probably Dad, but not guaranteed.

"If you're going to do one bit illegally, why not the rest too?" The smile was contagious, and I couldn't help it. Well, why not? Madmen could give hope on occasion.

* * *

After two weeks, I was convinced that Snuffles could do more than give hope. That was just one instance where he helped me personally, and in that small period of time he had convinced the whole family that he as great. Even, sometimes, he would talk to me about the Harry situation. While I didn't like my unbrother very much, he did encourage me that "Harry" was a decent enough guy when he wasn't being a stubborn little kid or lobbing off arms. He could help anyone in the family physically, mentally, or emotionally with hardly any effort. While I was new to him ("Usually," he said, "Harry's siblings are worst people on earth. It's good to see that the Potters managed to raise a good egg in this universe." I was a good egg), he figured me out well enough, and even got Dad to be genuinely happy. Heck, he even taught the man to sing! How, no one really knew, since Sirius couldn't sing, and Harry claimed Snuffles couldn't either before his arrival.

Thinking back, the man was practically a miracle.

He was a shocking man. He had four animagus forms, a book that stored anything and everything he could think of. He got rid of most of my guilt issues regarding my friends and the basilisk (Why did I keep thinking of Sonia? And why did I think of her – _it_ – as Sonia?), even taught me a way to get over nightmares he had learned from a ghost. He helped Dad be really happy, and seemed the only one to be able to talk any sense to my unbrother. The only person who resented Snuffles, I think, was Sirius.

On August the twenty-third, something important finally happened. Snuffles cracked down on Harry to make a plan of sorts. Luckily, he already knew Harry's track record for successful plans (being nearly nil), and brought Dad, Remus, Sirius and I in on it. Not that it did us much good, as he was the only one with any real ideas on how to take everything.

That was how we all found ourselves in the Potter library.

Harry was shifting uneasily. He'd been rather quiet, to anyone aside from Snuffles anyway, since the semi-spontaneous spilling of the big secret. Dad had been too, though not long, since, as previously mentioned, Snuffles had helped him along a bit. Maybe they had talked about Mum, or perhaps he had told him of another dimension that was better or worse off. The dimension hopper in question was lounging in a chair, seemingly bored as he picked at his nails.

"Okay," he said suddenly, smacking his (now very clean) hands on the table top. "I know from experience that no Harry with as short a war as yours was can plan to save his life, so help is obviously necessary. I know for a fact that you, James, are about as devious as any lion can come, and Charlus must have inherited that to become a Slytherin. Remus, you're just plain smart, and Sirius, as an auror you are very much in the loop, so your input is going to be useful. First, we need a plan for this year. The dementors will cause major trouble this year. Five of the teaching staff, being Moony, Dumbledore, Minerva, Filius, and Snape can use the Patronus charm to its full capabilities. Toss in Harry and we've got six people at the school."

"And me," I jumped in proudly. "That was my Spring project under Riddle, since the whole thing's easier with occlumancy. The guy was terrified of dementors anyway. We've seven Patroni at Hogwarts then." It had been hard, but the ability to stuff away any negative feelings and pull out positive really did make it a lot easier to cast a Patronus. Tom had drilled me nightly for three months until I could do it, though whether I could use the charm in the presence of dementors was not a given.

A grin spread across Snuffles' face. "Excellent, that's eight," at the confused looks, he grinned. "I'm going with. No one will question the paranoid Potter patriarch sending a well mannered, but still very large and dangerous guard dog attending the school with his sons while there's a couple of blood thirsty Dark Lord supporters after Harry." Dad sputtered, but I noted Sirius had a thoughtful look. "We'll get more information this way. I slink around for information here, Remus gets hearsay-and-tell from the teachers, the twins have the Hogwarts rumor mill covered, Sirius the Ministry, and James gets general rumors in the Wizarding World. We can nip this year's situation in the bud, and start on another for good measure."

Confused? So were we (excepting Sirius). That is, until Snuffles slapped the Daily Prophet on the table, the front page showing a wide eyed woman with a malevolent grin. She was the image of a dark aristocrat, and there was little wonder at who she was. We had all met with her older sister, Andromeda, often enough. Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped Azkaban the night before. Sirius had already known, since he was an auror, and likely on the case himself.

"Oh hell," Harry murmured. He spoke for once! "She'll _really_ try to kill us. I mean, she got you in our world, Sirius, and the Longbottoms... Molly got her eventually, but she's a top Death Eater! I can't take her as a kid! I couldn't even hold against a teenaged Voldemort! She's dangerous..." Harry looked very much pale. "I really thought we'd have an easy year this time..."

That was the first time since the disastrous introduction that I had heard Harry refer to him as Sirius. There was an unspoken agreement to call the man "Snuffles" to offer distinction between the two men. But, I suppose, Snuffles was just Sirius to "Harry".

"She didn't get me, and we can probably nip this in the bud," Snuffles replied in an offhand manner. "That's why I'm coming as the Potters' lovable guard dog, Snuffles. After last year, no one can blame James for sending some extra protection with you; and my aura, if anyone notices, can be explained away as protective spells that Professor Lupin replenishes every so often, or perhaps that I really am a Grim. My _dear_ cousin will be in Azkaban again soon enough, I'm sure. You never know."

Harry, however, went into "clingy angst monkey mode" as Snuffles had called it, his attitude being, apparently, what it had been much like after the death of Cedric Diggory, anger notwithstanding. Apparently, he'd been afraid of others disappearing from him like Diggory had (though he hardly even knew the Hufflepuff). Harry moped a bit while the rest of us waited from him to quit it. For a twenty-something year old man, he was very immature.

"I'm guessing her tactics will begin similar to my own," Snuffles resumed as if nothing had happened. "I'll ward the Gryffindor common room, and Slytherin for good measure so that all non-staff adults aren't allowed to past, maybe get the Weasley twins to let us borrow the map and make copies. Scrying spells in key parts of the castle is possible... I'd rather it all be for no reason, but I do know Bellatrix, even if this one isn't _my_ cousin. I think we can all guess that she won't be at all complacent about any of this."

We spent a week planning for one school year. It wasn't, as Snuffles explained, something to be done in one sitting (and Sirius had to hunt for Bellatrix and Snuffles), nor anything to dawdle over. We made basic outlines to be altered according to timeline changes, Snuffles making alternate avenues as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He planned around changes had already made, and around the dead-now-living (such as the Longbottoms and myself).

August passed with no more incidents, what little was left. More wards were erected, and I studied (as it was my simplest escape without a Dark Lord in my head). In that one month I managed to turn my entire right arm into a fox's, though it did hurt, and looked up the spells for Sirius to use on the false one when I was ready to finish the transformation. Harry was being a kid, much to my annoyance. He was too used to never having to really work at these things! At school, he always either already knew everything, or else got his memory jogged and could do it all regardless. In his own universe, he had Hermione as his personal research monkey! He took advantage of the studious nature of others, Hermione's insecurities from a childhood without friends and had her research while he played Quidditch. Now we were talking again (little as it was, since Hermione and Hannah had to deal with a year of work in two months) and confirmed that my mail was still blocked, I was glad. And I didn't do what Harry had either, because I had a mind all my own that wasn't named Hermione.

* * *

On the first of September, Dad dropped Harry, Snuffles, Remus, and myself off at the Platform. Harry decided to sit with Remus (for continuity's sake), so Snuffles came with me. I met up again with an ecstatic Hermione (who, despite missing out on a year on school and probably a trip to France, had liked the summer study and the magic privileges that came with it), and a sleepy Hannah (she had finished her make-up work just the night before) who had come to the station with Neville. We took a compartment on the train with a blonde Ravenclaw named Luna.

"Hi," I opened the compartment door and the wide-eyed girl looked up from her magazine, the Quibbler (which had two pages bent together, most likely to see an image). "Mind if we sit with you? Oh, don't worry about Snuffles," for he had just walked into the compartment to have a stare down with Luna, "he's just friendly. D'you mind?"

"Of course," she shifted slightly closer to the window as we entered. I took the other window seat, Snuffles sitting between Luna and I, tail hitting my leg. To those not used to the sheer size and terror of the Grim animagus, it was a bit daunting at first, but Luna just smiled in a vague sort of way and scratched his ears, causing the dog to wag his tail even harder. "What's it like in those other worlds, I wonder?" Her bubbly voice asked, causing Sirius to jump. I just smiled a bit.

"Very interesting from what I hear," I replied (since Snuffles was busy being a dog at the time). My friends sent odd looks my way. "A couple are rather traumatizing from what I heard though." Snuffles sent a reproachful look my way and I smirked. His tail was no longer thumping against my leg. Harry had mentioned Luna Lovegood, and anyone who knew of her would believe I was just playing along. Maybe I was. I'm not sure.

"I suppose they could be," she nodded in a knowing way. The topic switched in an instant. "Did you know that you have a nargle on your arm?" I looked down, surprised. What was a nargle? When I did, I saw a small creature, about one-twentieth of an inch tall, sitting in the crook of the elbow where flesh met plastic. I was surprised, naturally. I had a chizpurfle on me! Chizpurfles were tiny creatures that ate magic and had apparently decided it liked the taste of the spellwork on my arm. But why had she called it a nargle? I plucked it away, and Luna oo'd. "You caught it! Very hard to grab, nargles."

I nodded absently, holding the chizpurfle between two fingers where it had decided to start eating again. "I hope it didn't mess with my arm at all." I noticed I was getting weird looks from the other three in the compartment. "Chizpurfle."

Hermione jumped immediately into action, taking the miniature creature from my grasp. "A chizpurfle? I've never seen one before. Did you know..." It was actually kind of scary, really, to see her listing off so much about the creature. I had missed her little rants on anything and everything. She speculated about what sorts of spells attracted them and if we would learn about them in Care of Magical Creatures (which all of us were taking, though I had Arithmancy and Choir as my other electives, something I felt prepared for after Snuffles' impromptu family singing lessons, Hannah had Divination and an Arts course, Neville had Divination and was helping with first year Herbology lessons, and Hermione was in every available course but Divination). Luna looked on a bit before going back to her magazine.

Hours past with the trading of holiday stories (including why Harry and I had a guard dog – the false version – and why he was with me – Harry was sitting with _Professor Lupin_), Luna randomness, Snuffles drove away some older Slytherins happily, and just as the girls were about to kick we boys out, the train ground to a halt, and everything seemed to chill.

"Keep down," I muttered quickly as I heard the door at the end start to open. Dementors were entering from the two ends (we were in back with Harry sat up front), and people were starting to panic from the cloying depression the permeated already through the train. Remus' voice came along the train, loud and calm.

"Dementors are now checking the train for the two escaped convicts. Patroni will be accompanying them to tamp down the effects. After the dementors have passed several students will be handing out a remedy for the Dementors' effects to those who have none of their own. Stay calm," the message repeated again as the door opened, and I sent my patronus out to "escort" the dementor entering. A wolf ran into the Hallway, which I hadn't been expecting. But, then, I didn't associate Tom with safety any longer, so the large snake patronus was out of the question. Fitting that my godfather was the form it now took.

Hermione soon demanded explanations as the dementor had passed, effects muted by my patronus, and I quickly explained about the spell. No doubt she was vowing to learn it from Remus as soon as possible. When the train started again, I pulled out the bottomless bag that had been "filled" with chocolate before leaving and started handing them out (surprisingly the first compartment forward held four of my housemates that I didn't care for, and none in a great way).

I knew far more about dementors than I cared to, but Harry had made it his mission the day before that I should know everything there was to know. At the castle everyone got even more chocolate... and I think the only person who appreciated the additional chocolate was the Defense Professor himself. But, then, _he_ thought of chocolate as a cure all, and so didn't count.

* * *

Author's Note: Not much to put here today... Not much to explain... well, except that you probably only hate Harry because Charlus is in a tiff. I don't make him super, but I don't make him evil either! He's Harry. Just Harry. The rest of this will be an update on my life. Sorry!

Finals started today. I had Health (I might have bombed that) and English (which I don't think I failed). I actually have writer's block right now (eep!), but hopefully it will pass. I have the next two chapters pre-written, so I don't think I have to worry, but who knows? Hopefully I'll be good by V-day though, yeah?

Other than that... not much. Had a snow day Monday, and it snowed after school yesterday. Stayed until about noon too (actually, my yard is still a bit white) I don't think we've ever had this much snow here before! I got a couple more quotes for my quoting section on my profile too, if you're interested. If not? Ah well. Not the end of the world.

By next week, there will be a drawing of Chaz up on my profile! Or a link anyway. My friend Draw4Life (who quit FFnet recently) drew it after school today. I like it.

See you all in a week!


	16. So Very Familiar

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 15**

**So Very Familiar**

**"Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are, and what they might have been."**

**William Hazlitt**

.Draco Malfoy.

That summer had been alright, for a time. I played Quidditch and studied to beat Granger and Potter for the most part, occasionally going over to Blaise Zabini's house (for he had joined my "side" of the Slytherin debate halfway through first year), or else to the Nott home with father for business (though I was not friends per se with Theodore).

But then "Aunt Bella" broke out of Azkaban. Mother, as her sister, decided immediately that she would stay, and Father agreed; she had been a loyal death eater, and he did not dare to think of what vengeance she could seek if he refused. Not that Father ever mentioned this, but I could tell. "Aunt Bella" was not someone I had ever met before, and I quickly decided that I preferred it that way. She was mad, violent, and spoke in the most annoying baby voice. How could I be related to such a madwoman? How could I be expected to refer to her with anything even resembling a fond moniker?

But, sadly, I was and I did, because if I did not she would slap me, and I couldn't help that Mother had such an unsavory family (three blood traitors and a madwoman for her generation did not a good track record make). Mother was soon too frightened to stop her, and even Father (who had a "only I can slap my son and even then only when he's letting his Gryffindor show" mentality) dared not stand up to her. It was horrible.

On September the first, I packed quickly, glad to finally be rid of the madwoman I reluctantly called my aunt. I was even excited to be at the train station, though I hardly showed beyond a more relaxed set to my shoulders. Father left, and I walked away onto the train with a feather-light trunk, only to come face to face with Potter (the Gryffindor one, of course). Though surprised to see him there so early (usually the famous family was nearly late), I, again, didn't register the shock.

At first, everything between us had indicated we were to be rivals. We bickered back and forth for about a month in first year, I even tricked him into going to the trophy room after curfew (though he wasn't caught, as his father had no doubt told him of secret passages in the school), but a bit through October he just _stopped_ all of a sudden. I would insult him, and he would roll his eyes, ignoring me. All attempts to provoke him stopped quickly. _Malfoys were not to look like fools._ That was rule number one in the family. We were supposed to be rivals, enemies, because he was the muggle-loving savior of all that is good, light, and kind (and puppies of course), while I was the son of a notorious Death Eater, a Slytherin. Instead, we just ignored one another on a regular basis.

Potter had never actually _done_ anything to me. Not once had we dueled or thrown fists, and he often stopped the Weasel from attacking me. I decided to repay him for that. Rule number two was that _Malfoys never owe any debts._

"Watch your back, Potter," I stated calmly as could be. He'd looked as though he'd been just about to walk around me, but stopped in surprise as I spoke in a calm tone instead of with the usual mild-hatred (though I really didn't care one way or the other). "She's completely out of anything that could be considered the right state of mind, and very dangerous. She'll stop at nothing, I assure you. As soon as she's healthy, she's heading North. Keep your eyes out." The Gryffindor's eyes widened marginally, but he kept his jaw from falling.

"I... thanks, Draco," He turned the surprised expression into a smile as I furrowed my brow. Why should he call me by my first name? It was all formal between us. And why should he smile in such a carefree way? Unsure, I didn't leave just yet. "Sit near Charlus or me for the trip. I'm up front, just behind the Prefects, and he'll be in the back. Dementors will be checking the train, and the only people on board that I know of with a corporeal patronus will be in our compartments. You'll get chocolate faster too."

There is no hesitation in admitting I was surprised. A Gryffindor doing an information trade so effectively! But that meant I still owed him for tempering Weasley. Damn. Potter continued on his way around me back to the front, and I went on to the back. At least Charlus was in Slytherin, and we didn't exactly have a bad report or anything (though the fact that he had been possessed by the Dark Lord... I couldn't decide whether that was good or not, since on the one hand he had obviously been taught by the Darkest wizard in a century, but on the other said wizard was draining his life away and almost _killed_ him), so sitting near him was much less suspicious that by his twin. There was, of course, no reason to find the information in a swap at all suspicious; one would have to be a _fool_ to ignore such information.

Being almost an hour early, I was there before any of my usual train compatriots (and Slytherins usually were early to the train to get the best compartments). We lazed about, relaying the stories of our summers and just generally chatting for about six hours... and then the train came to a grinding halt. It was a full hour early! The train trip lasted seven hours, seven minutes, and seven seconds (because the Headmaster who had started up the train, Sevenus Boenhoffer, was absolutely obsessed with the most magical number), not... I glanced at my watch, and groaned. Six hours, six minutes, and (I guessed about ten seconds had passed between stopping and looking at my watch) six seconds. No doubt I was the only one to notice the _exact_ time that the cold feeling of helplessness, but I still found it highly clichéd.

I looked out the window with Blaise (who had the other window seat), but there was nothing to see. Where before there had been a healthy dose of five o'clock sun filtering between the small breaks in the cloudy sky, suddenly it was like night had come very much early. A cold winter night, as the light rain turned quickly to hail, but the sound of it pelting the train didn't come. Instead, the door at the end of the corridor was shaking open, and the cold creeped further in. The train lights turned off at the exact moment I heard the door slam open, and the screams began.

The loud noises of the car being broken into didn't help any, and with the overlapping screams of reality and memory... it was absolute torture. A voice was shouting over the P.A, but my entire compartment was too far gone, trying to stave off the visions and screams of our special memories.

Dark Arts lessons with our parents. I shuddered as I heard my father spouting the usual litany of hatred and superiority. "Mudbloods are a mixing of the dirt-beings known as muggles and the purity of magic running through our veins," he would say as the victim was brought it. "The Dark Arts were created to show them their place. I will teach you a new curse today, Draco..." It was the start of every lesson, and as I felt myself being drawn into it I vaguely remember grabbing a chocolate frog that had been left out and shoving it unceremoniously into my mouth. Mudbloods were lesser than purebloods, yes, but their screams sounded _exactly_ the same as any pureblooded wizard's. Just because they were inferior, were they animals for testing?

_Merlin_, the screams!

Finally, a warmth came, and I realized that, while the dementor had hovered outside of my compartment door for only a second or two (such a long moment, it had seemed) a wolf, a _werewolf_, made entirely of a glowing silver was driving it on. The chocolate started its work as the dementor moved on, and I collapsed into my seat, quickly giving chocolate frogs to the others in the compartment as they were all dizzy and lost.

I could see easily how Bellatrix Lestrange could go mad with those creatures around her for twelve years. I suppose it was a good thing I had never enjoyed the screams and the lessons that produced them._She_ had when she was young. People who enjoyed torture ended up with those... _things_.

When we entered our carriages, I didn't ask Blaise why his eyes stuck to the empty air in front of the carriage. It wasn't empty anymore._Bellatrix_ made sure of that.

* * *

.Sirius "Snuffles" Black. 

I had a new favorite person. Luna was a real riot! Even though I swapped randomly between my godson and Charlus, I couldn't help but gravitate to the latter when he was around the blonde girl. I'd never actually known her in any universe (at least, not one that was as batty as Harry claimed the girl was), but I could see why she was one of Harry's friends in our home universe, and Charlus' here. She said the most insane things, noticed rare magical creatures (who knew there were so many chizpurfles around Hogwarts?), and the fact that she knew _exactly_ where to scratch my head certainly didn't count against her a bit... although her habit of asking me about other universes was more than a bit disconcerting.

To be honest, I though Charlus had better friends than Harry did. Hermione was smart, reasonable, and brave in her own right (even though she was in Ravenclaw instead of the Gryffindor I knew), Neville was as brave and talented as either of his parents, sans his father's arrogance (having non-crazy parents probably helped on that front), and Hannah, though spacey and a bit reclusive, was as even-tempered as they come. Heck, even his Slytherin friends were alright (though the fact that he was friends with Reginald Nott's son was cause for concern, though he obviously believed in the ideals of Slytherin neutrals; uphold the Slytherin ideals, not Voldemort's). I was often reminded of a barrel of monkeys when it came to Harry's friends. Ron was a bit more sycophantic, Ernie was up his own arse, and while Terry definitely knew something was wrong with Harry, he apparently didn't dare to mention, but instead kept his eyes out. While he couldn't really help the friends that his counterpart had chosen, I still felt a bit disappointed.

In my month as "Snuffles, the Potter Twins' Guard Dog," I learned a lot about my godson, aside from that he was dumb enough to take Divination _again_ (though when I was levitated up by Harry into the tower, the look on Trelawney's face at the sight of the Grim was very much worth it). He had, apparently, _de-matured_ since I last knew him. Yes, people had died, and yes, he had survived auror training, not to mention killing Voldemort (although I found the method quite lame compared to the usual "giant duel of doom" that I had become accustomed to), but in the past nine years of his life, he had changed. He was – dare I say it? – _fun_, and no longer minded the attention. In fact, he actually seemed to crave it! Unfortunately, he was also _very_ sure of himself, that he could save the wizarding world, and still very complacent about helping in any way (such as helping me figure out how to get the diadem to Dumbledore without getting our arms burned off). I had seen several Harry's with such a mindset, and it didn't bode at all well.

Still, aside from chopping off Charlus' arm (poor kid), Harry hadn't flubbed_too_ badly... well, compared to the _one_. But, then, it wasn't hard to be better at time travel than _him_. I shuddered to think of it, but a hand quickly buried itself in the fur on my head and started scratching my ear, though quickly leaving.

"He's thinking about Harry again," Luna said in a dreamy voice. I had decided to stop being surprised when she said things like this (though she usually did surprise me anyway). It was the first day of October, and while I knew she said this stuff a lot... it was still_creepy_. I glanced at Charlus (which involved turning my entire head), but he just smiled, taking the comment in stride.

"Well, technically he's here to protect _Harry_ from a murderer," Neville mentioned from his spot on the grass before me. Because he was doing extra Herbology, he had extra Herbology homework. The group often did their work outside (even Hermione, it seemed, liked fresh air to the stuffy library when working), and Charlus was helping Luna with Potions. Just because the girl was a complete genius, it didn't mean that tossing highly volatile ingredients together on a whim was a good idea. Hermione had been snagged by Harry to visit Remus (Hannah following like a good best friend), and so there was no snapping when they talked about anything that _wasn't_ school work. "Snuffles just likes us better."

Charlus seemed to choke on his own spit while laughing, and I let out an indignant bark! I did _not_ like them better than Harry! I liked them better than his friends... and maybe I liked Luna better. The fact that I didn't have to deal with Ernie, the world's most pompous 'Puff, was just a bonus. As if knowing my thoughts, Luna scratched my side, stifling her own giggles. I stopped laid back down, submitting to the massage, my tail wagging against the willow tree behind me.

"Luna, I think you have a new best friend," remarked Charlus as he opened his bag to place the Potions notes away. The dominant hand, though false, was perpetually gloved nowadays to draw away attention from the contraption. He'd already had at least 30 Ravenclaws requesting to study it, some out of curiosity, others because they were interested in becoming Healers one day, and a few because they had heard a rumor (courtesy of one Ronald Bilius Weasley) that it was covered in arcane runes. Said hand pulled out another sheet of parchment, rolled it up, and passed it along to my masseuse (just joking... although...). "Here's those notes you asked after Luna. I've a meeting with Professor Lupin soon, so I'm heading in. See you both later."

He stood, and after the dismissals from the pair staying out, walked off. I stood lazily and licked Luna on the cheek as thanks before trotting after my charge for the afternoon. Honestly, I expected him to go straight to Remus' office, I would hang out with Harry for the rest of the day before dinner, and then I would go with Charlus to help him with his transformation drills for the day. He was still stuck at the leg joints, but doing spectacularly otherwise. So, I was quite surprised to find him leading me into the second floor girls' loo. I had been there twice before, and so knew about the Chamber within. The moment the door closed behind us, I turned back into myself.

"Chaz," my tone stern, "why are you going into an unstable chamber with a dead basilisk in it?" I received one of his infamous _looks_ for the effort.

"_Sonia_ isn't dead," he replied simply. "Riddle was destroyed she could do much more than have her eye plucked by Fawkes, and Harry only used the sword on me. She is very much alive. Harry got his_bright idea_," Charlus lifted his left arm for emphasis, running a green gloved thumb over the carving of a snake on one of the taps, "before much of anything happened, and Fawkes brought Harry and I to Dumbledore straight after I passed out." I held back a snort. While Charlus didn't think that fainting was something boys did, I knew otherwise. "Besides," Charlus continued, "she's very even tempered now that she's not being cursed into anything by Riddle."

I blinked owlishly. He had explained weeks ago about getting flashes of Riddle's memory when he was killed, most likely because Riddle had him trapped in memories to begin with (the idea of being forced to watch what Riddle had done with his body...), but how could he know what happened in the fight? And who in their right mind would name a basilisk _Sonia_? Well, Voldemort could never be said to have been sane, and Slytherin himself rarely, so...

Charlus hissed at the faucet, causing me to twitch. Just because almost every Harry I had met could speak parseltongue, it didn't mean that I was at all used to hearing the snake language. Although that did make me wonder just _how_ Charlus could still speak it without being the young Voldemort's host. Still, we slid down the relatively cleared tunnel and clattered into piles of pillows with little mishap (though the fact there were pillows at all made me wonder just how often the animagus in training was coming down there to begin with). I stretched after landing, surprised to find Charlus was already setting off through the cavern.

"Chaz!" I dashed after him, and he slowed his pace. "You're talking like... well, like you've been down here _very_ recently. Any reason?" I had figured why, but I really couldn't believe it. I did figure it out very easily, but I'd be damned if I would accept it without hearing the words from the horse's (fox's) mouth. I would have had to be dense to not figure it out with how much I knew about the magical world... I just disliked the idea. A lot.

"I visit a few times a week," he explained as I finally got beside him. "I kind of... can't help it, I guess. This summer, I kept thinking of her, knowing her name without having actually heard it before, and she explained it the first night back. She was the familiar of Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort, but the piece he put into the horcrux, and when he died the familiar bond snapped onto me."

Simply put, Charlus looked more than just uncomfortable with the topic, so I opted to break the ice on it. "The Potter luck really has it in for you, hasn't it? You learn a lot from a very knowledgeable person who understands you, but he turns out to be Voldemort. You end up with a familiar bond four years early, but its to a basilisk," I laughed a bit at the irony. "I don't suppose Dumbledore knows?"

A derisive snort from the boy was the reply, and I managed to grin at him. Though I wasn't quite sure why, neither of the twins said all that much to the Headmaster. They practically worshipped the man, even if Charlus didn't trust him, and Harry knew of his "shady" past, both knew him to be genuinely good and reliable (though I had met quite a few bad Dumbledores, I was giving this one the benefit of the doubt). Charlus didn't trust much of anyone, of course (I found his near automatic acceptance of me disconcerting), so his way was understandable, but I wondered what all Harry had found out about that made him not tell the Headmaster immediately what had happened like I thought he would.

"Right, dumb question," I laughed, ruffling Charlus' hair, much to his annoyance. He prided himself on having tidy-able hair. "So... why'd you bring me with?"

"You're my bodyguard," while he did seem nervous, Charlus grinned. "I'm not supposed to meet with Uncle Moony until half an hour before dinner, and it wouldn't make sense if I just left you to Luna's ministrations, even if she _is_ your favorite. Besides, this isn't something that I can keep secret forever, and you can keep a secret, certainly. Having a basilisk familiar will help with destroying horcruxes... and I can't imagine Dad being terribly happy with the idea. He's holding out for one of Tala's cubs picking me in a few years." Tala was James' familiar, a griffin who made her home in the Hollow Wood. "They don't like me anyway."

I snickered. Griffins were very picky about who they associated with. "Well, that almost makes sense, I suppose. You're alright with your bond?" Familiar bonds were never actually something willed, they just formed when two compatible beings met, usually a human and a magical creature, sometime after they became an adult. If a person with a familiar dies, loses their soul, or becomes a squib, then the creature will have an open bond that latches onto the person of least resistance to that bond. Normally, like in the case of Dumbledore and Fawkes, it was a descendant of the creature's familiar. Possession was close enough to that. Not everyone liked what they got, but almost everyone got one.

Charlus was hesitating. So, I deduced, he either wasn't sure or else he really was okay with the bond, but unsure as to how I would react. He was already bringing me to the thing, and I wasn't about to wig out because he _liked_ his familiar.

However, he just shrugged and hissed at the twin snakes that kept the Chamber locked up. Oh well. I would get him to loosen up eventually.

* * *

.Harry Potter. 

It was Halloween. Something bad _always_ happens on Halloween. My parents died (here my grandmother), I got special "no food time" in the cupboard because it was "freak day", the troll attacked (twice), the basilisk attacked (again, twice), Sirius tried to break into Gryffindor tower (though that was unfortunate because he failed), I was picked for the Triwizard Tournament... honestly, Halloween never meant anything good. Even when Voldemort was gone, there were little things. Teddy played a prank with some of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes he found and accidentally overdosed Ron, Ginny falling down the stairs (though it was a small set, she still broke her wrist). Yet, somehow, I looked forward to the holiday despite that. Maybe I was an emotional masochist?

Bellatrix did try to break in that night, and I had finally convinced Fred and George to lend me the map again for Remus to monitor (and copy). She came from a passage that led into the mountains, the castle entrance being in the dungeons. While the school was set to sleep on the floor, Remus had called Charlus and I (not to mention Sirius) to come talk to him (supposedly to make sure we would both be careful). The werewolf had been excused from patrol because the full moon was the following night, even though Sirius had given Snape a way to enhance the Wolfsbane potion. He was no longer sick, but the Headmaster didn't know that.

"Keep an eye on them Sirius," Remus reminded just before we left, my godfather already back in Grim form. "I'm giving a copy of the map to all of the teachers, and while I can alter those, Fred and George do have the original." Sirius barked, and I furrowed my brow. Why should that matter? "They've already asked how you're walking about as a Grim and doing your auror duties at the same time. They worship the Marauders, but not blindly."

"You can't change the original?" I was actually pretty curious. The Map was an amazing piece of magic after all.

"Of course not," Remus pulled out three more maps to accompany the one Harry was returning to the twins. "And even if I could, they would wonder why you had, because they don't know I have it, now do they? The copies show Sirius as Snuffles, and I've added a bit to yours. Now off to bed! Play a prank tomorrow so that they think you borrowed it for yourself too, okay?"

We were sent off promptly and led to the Great Hall by Sirius. A prank? I sighed as I lay in a squishy purple sleeping bag. I didn't _do_ pranks (except when Charlus made me do them a few times), but if it meant we kept our cover... another sigh. I guess that's what happens when one takes over another person's life.

* * *

**_Please read this note!!!_ I need a pairing for my Valentines Day... thingy. Please take the poll on my homepage and pick two of the characters on the list! Crack pairings encouraged.**

Author's Note: Okay, so firstly... Yes Harry only had a small bit and yes I do think I'm going overboard with Chaz. Sorry. But here I shall defend my decisions! I know that only Lana (Konoha's Kage), my amazing beta, actually reads these, but oh well. At least you can't say I never said anything about it, yeah?

But before that, the picture of Chaz that Draw4Life made is now on her DeviantArt account, and I have a link at the top of my profile page if you care to look. It's a lot smaller on there than it was on the computer, but oh well. Either way, I like it (even though his shirt is ginormous), and just so you know it is of a Chaz who is a couple years older than now (she didn't want to draw thirteen year old Chaz). Anyway, it's pretty good (a million times better than I can do, I assure you), so you can check it out if you like, maybe leave her a comment? (nudge)

So, here are the explanations! Regarding familiars: a familiar bond is not a willing bond in any way and is normally not made until the two compatible creatures are "of age", 17 for wizards and regular adult age for an animal. Not all wizards/witches have a bond, but most do, because not everyone meets a creature that corresponds with their magic. Chaz gets bonded to the basilisk because of Riddle's soul being in him as it was destroyed, so the two souls were right next to each other, and similar, so the bond grabbed onto him, despite his magic not being mature/stable enough. This, unfortunately, causes him to be moody.

Why Sonia isn't Voldemort's familiar: My theory is that when a horcrux is created, it takes aspects of a personality away with it. When Tom's first horcrux (known as the diary Flight) was made, he was nervous, uncertain, and feeling betrayed (because this was his blood family he was killing, and he found they really didn't care for him), and wanted to get rid of those feelings by eliminating those that caused the emotions. So the horcrux made had those aspects of his personality. In book 6 (I hope you already read it!) when Harry sees him with the ring, Riddle is looking very confidant, and that is because of his losing the part of his personality that was taken into the diary. Also, people put their uncertainties into diaries, pouring in what makes them nervous or what happens to them in general. So into a diary he poured what he believed was his weakness. He could no longer be hurt by people emotionally, show affection, nor would he ever be nervous about anything really. That was the part of his soul that Sonia was bonded to, which is why I think he didn't use her in the war either. Without that part of his soul and magic, they were incompatible. The horcrux perhaps felt rejected for being tossed out of the whole like that, so he's very uncertain.

I'll give you my theories on the parts of Voldemort that were put into the other horcruxes as they come up, though I think Harry got his fear (as he was afraid of death), but Harry conquered that. If you guys do care (or even read this stuff), you can give me a review I guess. Muhaha. Suffice to say that the earlier a horcrux was made (the order of that being, I think, diary, ring, cup, locket, diadem, Harry, Nagini) the more personality it would have, and anyone possessing one of the horcruxes would be influenced heavily by that emotion (but those in possession of them are oft times able to get beyond it, as I imagine Harry being a very frightened child, but he moved past it and accepted that fear was reasonable, and Charlus moved past his insecurities, even helping Flight get past some of his own, though he didn't know it).

By the way, I'm kinda confused now... I just looked at the reads and found that chapter 13 has more reads than eleven and twelve... I dunno, just weird...

Have a good week! ... I should probably start writing more though. I only have one more chapter pre-written O.O' At least Finals are over (sigh).


	17. Bad Poetry in the Present

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 16**

**Bad Poetry in the Present**

"**Anybody can write the first line of a poem, but is a very difficult task to make the second line rhyme with the first."**

**Mark Twain**

.Charlus Potter.

The first Hogsmeade day of the year was late in coming. It was the very day of Halloween that we were finally allowed to swarm the village, and I got my first look at the amazing little village. Hogsmeade was like Diagon Alley, only better, because there were no parents telling anyone not to set the nose biting tea cups at Madame Puddifoot's (a tea shop so utterly cheesy that even Hannah and Hermione were gagging, which, seeing as they were the resident girls of the group, was something), and Dad wasn't around telling me exactly which pranking items to buy. I knew perfectly well that the garroting gas pellets were a bad idea because my magical signature would be easily traced from them, and that trying to mix dungbombs with the stuff Fred and George Weasley had given me was a death wish. Such knowledge was displayed when picking things out for Snuffles (who had been grabbed by Harry for the trip, naturally).

The past two months had actually been quite nice. I dealt with my unbrother on a day-to-day basis, still managed to one-up him in Potions and Transfigurations (though Hermione thumped me in the latter quite easily), and went on with life having two separate groups of friends who probably didn't (or rather, wouldn't) get along.

There was one event that Harry had been dreading, silly as it was. The first Care of Magical Creatures lesson with one Professor Hagrid was on hippogriffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors together. I understood Harry wanting to support the giant man by taking the class again, despite knowing the material, but I quickly wondered as to why. Yes, hippogriffs were amazing and beautiful creatures, but they were also vicious if you got in their way. Not exactly a good choice for a first ever lesson.

That had been the first day, and it irked me that _that_ was what worried him. He was dreading a to have hippogriff attack my housemate more than having Bellatrix Lestrange trying to kill him! It was so simply taken care of – all I had to do was poke the blond boy in the side whenever he made to insult Buckbeak and claim that "I don't want to have to support you in a court of law against a_hippogriff_" to get that taken care of (and to not have classes about bleeding_flobberworms_) – but my unbrother couldn't think of the easy way out, could he?

Out of all my classes, there was only one that I was guaranteed to have Sirius for, which was choir. Since it was always at the same time as Harry's Divination lessons (which the animagus was forbidden from going to since he made the gaudy bat faint whenever she saw him), I had the dog to myself for about an hour every off day. Since he knew what I was to work on in that lesson, he would help me on the evenings he chose to take me, so I was soon the most popular boy in that class. The fact that there were only three other boys (and twelve girls) made it more apparent. Needless to say, it was soon my favorite class.

Aside from that, little was going on. Animagus training was going well, despite my frustration with my false arm and how painful it was to try and grow a tail. I was upper end in most lessons (hard not to be doing well in class with Hermione as a friend) and even though I was no longer allowed on the team, I still got to work with the Slytherin team's beater on Saturdays.

So we had gone to Hogsmeade with no worries, and left with the same. Neville and I checked out the apothecary (which was the only one in Europe that supplied horklump teeth, which I grabbed for Luna as she mentioned that the "flapping flibber-gibbets" had pretty teeth), I went with Hermione to Scrivenshaft's and laughed at the people fool enough to eat Honeydukes' trick sweets with Hannah. After lunch I visited the Shrieking Shack with Theodore. (Who had ditched Rebecca and Daphne when they went _shoe shopping_. Oh, the horror.) While he spouted off about the old legends, I was cackling in my head that I was one of twenty people (roughly) who knew the truth of the matter. It was fun to lord things over people, even if only in my mind.

However, there was one odd instance. After lunch, Snuffles had gone over to me because Harry met up with Remus. While Theodore and I walked the high streets, a local had something dropped on his foot by another man on his foot a few feet in front of us. Normally, I wouldn't really care, but after his shout ("Ow! My toe! Guy!!!") Snuffles shuddered. It was terribly confusing, and I'm not sure why I remember it now... but Snuffles never did care to elaborate on just why he reacted. I assume it was something to do with him getting an ingrown toenail.

On the way back to Hogwarts, I was "stolen" from my Slytherin compatriots by Harry for a "private" conversation. As it included Sirius and we were only ten feet away from the nearest person, I didn't see the privacy factor. With a start, I would realize I had referred to the animagus as "Sirius", but quickly dismissed the concern. He _was_ Sirius after all.

"This is it," Harry declared finally, running a nervous hand through his messy hair. "Back in my dimension, Sirius tried to break in tonight during dinner, through the Fat Lady. Remus has the Marauders' Map, since I borrowed it from the Twins this morning," I noted that he always referred to Fred and George as "the Twins" despite he and I being twins as well... physically I mean. This person was in no way my brother. "As the moon is tomorrow he's playing hooky on the feast to keep his eye out." Due to the "discrete" new directions from Snuffles to Snape, the Wolfsbane Potion worked even better than before, though neither the Headmaster nor the Potions Master himself knew just how well.

"Harry, this is going to be _entirely different_," I reminded him with a sigh. We'd gone through the same conversation several times for the past week, with the same results. "Snuffles was out to catch Pettigrew and clear his name. Lestrange is actually_out to kill you_. She won't be as complacent as Snuffles was, nor will she back off if she finds she's gotten the wrong bed and is confronted with a semi-conscious and wandless thirteen year old wizard. Bellatrix Lestrange will attack and kill anyone who gets in her way! You actually met her, and what you and your dogfather," -- it was a name usually used for Sirius, but Sirius wasn't this person's godfather and would not be referred to as such -- "have said, I'd say you ought to be at least a dozen times more careful! We need more than a man with a magical map to keep safe around here, Harry. I mean, we ought to block the secret passageways out, set traps for her, or get the Headmaster to set up wards against the Dark Mark... not this 'let's see what happens' tripe you've been up to. You could have told the Headmaster anything in the past couple of years – Quirrell made your scar ache, I was acting strange, or the _truth_ – and we could have avoided several crises. Bloody sodding Merlin Harry! You could have gone without revealing your hand to Voldemort!" He winced, but not at the name. The argument was going the same as usual, and I stuck to my side of it. I had been berating him for a while about what he should have done after I found out he'd mouthed off to Voldemort. His lack of subtlety and planning skills were obviously what got him to not make Slytherin.

"Would you quit already?" Harry groaned. "I get it, I'm an idiot! But I have wards around my bed and McGonagall rigged an alarm to the Fat Lady's portrait. If any non-Gryffindor enters, she knows immediately. And that's not even counting everything that Sirius set up. Even if I _don't_ take everything as seriously as you think I ought to, they do, and they plan it out."

Sirius made a "harrumph" noise and trotted forward. He, too, was tired of the argument, though on my side. I snorted as well. "Harry, really, you haven't told Dumbledore, so how can he be expected to plan out your life and manipulate circumstances properly? Listen, Sirius said it so often already that I practically have the speech memorized. Maybe _you_, as the one it's meant for, should pay attention on occasion?"

With a final scowl I left my unbrother behind. Even though Snuffles had tried to tell me that Harry _did_ know that I was real, it was those moments where I knew he really didn't think anything around him except the fluffy black animagus were anything more than a lucid dream. He couldn't even listen to my advice to save his _own_ life. Oh, sure, he said he would give his all to defeat Voldemort, to keep himself alive to do it at all, and then he took for granted that things will be the same. How could someone who didn't even think that a place that was already so different from his own home couldn't really be at all different think that the people living there, who didn't exist in his dimension, were real? _I_ wasn't real. _My world_ wasn't real.

I stalked the rest of the way to the castle in a bit of a strop, dropped off some goodies with Luna (she was ecstatic about the horklump teeth, though I dared not ask why), and spent the rest of the afternoon before the feast doing History homework. Dinner was normal for the Halloween feast, at least to begin with. Bats swooped, pumpkins cackled, and the Weasley Twins turned anyone eating pumpkin pie a vivid shade of purple. Oddly, Draco arrived late to the meal. Weirder still, he sat next to me rather than by the humanoid lumps (Crabbe and Goyle), Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. He and I had a tentative complacency regarding one another. We certainly weren't friends (he, after all, was a bigoted pureblood and I but a lowly halfblood). Any effort towards that end, he knew, had been due to Riddle's urging in my mind or in his book, subtle as it may have been. However, he _did_ sit by me.

"Draco?" I asked, surprised. "Why are you sitting here?" Obviously I wasn't going to ask him what he was doing. That would just merit a reply of "sitting", wasting both our breaths.

The Malfoy heir cast a sidelong glance at me. "I wanted to tell you she's breaking in tonight. If I had, I would also have said you should tell your brother... but, I never said anything of the sort, did I?" He smirked at me and segued into talking about Potions and how Blaise hadn't been holding up as his partner this year and that he could, perhaps steal me from Longbottom every so often? That was the dinner conversation: toad spleens and exploding cauldrons.

At meal's end, I was slow to get up, feigning a full lethargy as I waited for Harry and Snuffles to catch up with me. (Tentative as he was to my existence as he was.) I told him what Draco "hadn't" said anything about, glad all the while that Remus was watching the school with an eagle's eye for the intruder who, in all likely hood, would be on her way out of the castle at that very moment. If Harry couldn't pay attention to an _imaginary_ person's concerns, he could at least have the decency to mind those among us who _exist_.

Harry and I diverged, half an hour later meeting up in my godfather's office. While the rest of the school was in the Great Hall to sleep, Harry and I were meeting with Remus under the pretense that he had to tell my dad that we were just fine. I don't think I had ever seen my godfather looking so well the night before a full moon, and I was glad. He quickly explained which entrance Bellatrix had used, where she was likely to be staying, given said entrance, etc. A Modified Marauders' Map was given to Harry, Snuffles, and I for our own surveillance effort, the advice to pull a prank soon added to it. The next morning, anyone entering the History room could speak only Gobbledegook.

* * *

For the first Quidditch match of the season, I was a spectator. It was the traditional opening match-up of Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, which resulted in Harry catching the snitch, sodden as he was, while five patroni flew over the field to halt the dementors storming it. Actually, the whole affair made a scowl mar my features. After all, I should have been out there. The loss wouldn't have been half as embarrassing with a decent Keeper. Damned "arm." 

Soon after that was the Christmas holiday, and I was home. My animagus transformation was finished the second day back.

Dad had picked us up from the station in a Ministry car, leaving crowds again bewildered by the absence of Mum. No one who wasn't close to the family knew that she was really gone, though the gossip magazines speculated often, and no way in Hell would I be the one to let the word leak. Snuffles had fun spooking pedestrians regardless.

Upon our arrival back home, Snuffles immediately started talking with Dad in the library, Harry went to the parlor to floo Ron about something (though I couldn't think of why as they had been talking the entire day on the train), and I practiced transforming. Later we had dinner, I practiced more, went to bed, and the next day was for my homework. After lunch I sat down to practice more on my transformation, when I found that the arm issue was no longer one at all. I transformed.

Everything was a lot taller as a fox, the scents sharper, sounds louder. My room smelled lightly of vanilla and I grinned a foxy grin. As I loped about, I realized exactly what had happened to allow the full transformation. My arm wasn't an "arm" any longer, but a real fox's forepaw! A happy yip escaped me and I quickly grew used to the movements needed for a fox to move naturally. Obviously, Sirius had spelled my arm when I wasn't paying attention. And how could I ever want to have two legs again? Running about on four, and the smells! Well, not all the smells were great, but in general it was fantastic. As a fox, I wasn't a freak. Now I understood why people became animagi. It was freedom, even locked up in my bedroom. What could be better than being a fox?

A sharp rapping noise came from the door, and in my momentary fright I turned back into a human faster than I thought possible. It _hurt_. The door opened to admit Harry, and I was glad to have turned back into myself despite the pain in my lower back. He may have been 20-something and have very sturdy occlumency shields, but he wasn't exactly smart, nor did he think before acting. An auror he might be, but it was a miracle he had kept his own secret for so long. Very Gryffindor.

"'Lo Charlus," Harry said from the door. He was giving me the oddest look... I was sitting on the floor, sprawled. Right.

"I was doing some stretches for my arm," I defended quickly. I suppose running about as a fox was a bit of a stretch. "You startled me though, so I fell over. So, why did you knock Bromine?" It was an old moniker I had used when my brother and I were kids and Mum had been teaching us about muggle sciences. I figured pretending not to be eternally angry at the man in boy's clothing (wait, that sounds _wrong_...) before me might distract him from the oddness of my statement. It worked. "I thought you were talking Quidditch with Ron." I wanted him out. I wanted to be a fox again!

"Well, Ron Keeps too," murmured Harry, seeming to stare at me in shock from the seemingly kind name. "He wanted a scrimmage match. I could be your Chaser and Ginny his. Are you up for it?" A slow blink. Well, I had wanted to pack in a lot of Quidditch practice over the break, as I'd been booted off of the Slytherin team.

"Sure," I nodded finally, deciding my inner-fox could wait, "but if it snows I'm coming back in. Just because the Pitch is weather-proofed, it doesn't mean the walk back in will be any less frigid." Before I really knew what was happening, Harry pulled me up from my vanilla-scented sanctuary and we were heading downstairs. I could show Sirius my transformation later; I could thank him for charming my arm without being asked.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity to have the animagus expert to myself for several more days. Finally, on Christmas Eve (which had the usual fanfare and involved introducing Snuffles to the extended family) that I finally had a chance to show him my progress. His face lit up immediately.

"That's great Chaz!" He crowed happily, which did hurt my ears a bit. I tackled him in retaliation. Soon, a dark red fox and giant black dog could be seen (had anyone known to look) wrestling in his room, both very happy. He had size on me (I was a small fox yet; even as a human I was running the small end of my year at five feet and three inches and nowhere near fully grown. Really, I was just an adolescent kit.), not to mention experience, so I never won. But it was fun. That was why people became animagi after all.

After five minutes of wrestling, I was wiped. How anyone could think the time and effort put forward couldn't be worth the result was beyond me. It was my first animagus romp. Sirius had claimed that, once this was done, I was eligible for a proper Marauder name, provided I picked up the pace in pranking (which I had). Again, I noted I slipped on calling him Snuffles on accident, but hardly noticed really. It was Christmas, and I was an animagus!

That night I was dubbed Messr Faux Paw, and then I went to sleep.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned brightly, though by then the house had been long since awake. Gifts were opened and again Dad was on top of things and had already taken care of Harry's fanmail (which Harry was shocked to find out he actually received). Severus had sent the usual Potions kits, this time with the interesting add of Boomslang skin and some powdered unicorn horn, but it was the note that accompanied Harry's that interested us all. 

The day before, our honorary uncle (from Mum's side, as he _was_ her best friend, even if he always refused to come to the Christmas and New Year parties) had received a plain, unmarked envelope containing a very bad poem, and believed it was about Mum. He had been close to the family as long as I could remember, and while the note was a blow, it brought several things to light.

_'A light vanished,_

_Herself she banished._

_Hidden away_

_Without light of day._

_The flower you seek_

_Is not weak._

_And in her wake_

_All hearts quake._

_She must stay put_

_And keep her root._

_In future soon_

_Will come your boon,_

_And Death Sender find_

_Your flower kind._

_Leave blossom be_

_For years at least three_

_And Death's Flight may_

_Flee from your way.'_

It was a poem of many (bad) couplets and Snuffles recognized it if the shocked look as it was read aloud was an indication.

"I'll guess that this has something to do with other dimensions?" Aunty Rainbow posited, to which he only nodded. "You going to explain?"

"World number one," Snuffles groaned. "This was world number one! Or it will be... is... whatever." A hearty sigh came out. "I called it 'the World of Searching,' actually, and it _was_ my favorite world... is still really. But... _Merlin_! The prophecies call me Death Sender often enough... well, at least I know you..."

The end of the sentence dropped off with a sigh before Snuffles began smacking the back of his head on his chair (quite vigorously, actually) while everyone looked on. I wondered if he'd gone mad, but didn't dare to ask. He had spoken fondly of the first world, even if he only really did anything beyond starve himself for one week. That entire time was spent learning about his situation. This was that world... or as the case was, would be.

"Can we talk about this later?" Harry requested. "Can we just... think about what it means later? It's Christmas." I saw the reason behind what he wanted. While it was understandable to talk about these things in front of even Aunty Rainbow and Aunt Cynthia (who never would have a proper nickname, I'm afraid), their parents were already confused enough at the prospect of an otherworldly Sirius Black, let alone the discussions to come about a dimension-hopping Harry. They only knew the barest facts about the man's situation, and as Snuffles had said, having too many people in the know was potentially hazardous. They could slip the information to someone who shouldn't know on accident. His reasoning had been similar with Dumbledore (except, he had claimed, Albus Dumbledores were notorious for trying to take over the world or forgetting that people were more than chess pieces), and everyone who truly knew agreed. So anyone not in on the initial information dump really didn't know much.

We didn't bring it up again, but Snuffles was no longer in the celebrations, simply turning into his Grim form and curling up on Harry's feet. He moped through the celebrations, and the mood remained muted even as the sun rose. The previous jolly nature and general goodness of the early morning were forgotten. It didn't matter. Mum had been brought into the equation now, and this wasn't anything we wanted to think on. The poem, the _prophecy_ really, it was little more than a clue to a riddle that Snuffles already had the answer to, but couldn't solve. It gave little hope.

It was time, fate controlled by prophecy. Nothing less, perhaps much more. We could only hope it wasn't too bad.

* * *

Author's Note: This one really is shorter than usual; less than 4000 words! Wow... Hm. Oh well! I guess it'll just lower the average. 

I realize this chapter was crap, and I'm sorry, but that's just how it ended up. A filler with info necessary to the story (and Chaz finally finishing his transformation to get that out of the way) which I couldn't think of a better way to present. Sorry.


	18. Like a Recurring Dream

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 17**

**Like a Recurring Dream**

**"We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they are called memories. Some take us forward, they are called dreams."**

**Jeremy Irons**

.Severus Snape.

All it took to make me drop everything was a single piece of parchment in a plain envelope. When it fell through my mail chute (for it was impractical to send owls into a basement Potions lab) I had been finishing with the wrapping of the Christmas gifts for Harry and Charlus. At the time, my mind (which had been frenzied for the past year, not counting when I was using calming draughts, and that was almost to the point of addiction) was focused on whether or not the boys in question would even _use_ the rare potions ingredients I was sending along. Harry had obviously picked up some techniques quickly in first year, but they were obviously a learned skill (though when he had learned was a mystery), and while Charlus had the makings of a great brewer, he rarely made potions out of class unless he had to.

Then the letter dropped onto my desk behind me. I had turned to pick up the seemingly innocuous envelope. It was plain white parchment, almost definitely spelled for the precise shade of white, with '_Severus T. Snape_' inscribed in plain black ink. With a seal of regular gray wax (not even a family or Ministry seal was pressed into it) the entire thing was wholly unremarkable. A single sheet of parchment was removed, shaken open, and promptly stared at.

On that simple piece of parchment in that simple white envelope with the abhorrently normal black ink and curvy script was a poem that left me dumbfounded. The cursive was perfect, created by a spell no doubt (though I didn't make up for the spell being awful), and each perfectly crafted word was about _Lily_. Who else could it be? My best friend (and secret love) had "vanished" after all, one year, four months, and twenty four days past, had "banished" herself from the wizarding world all by her own decision so far as was known. She was the kindest of people, our_'flower kind,'_ and what few knew of her departure were devastated, thus _'In her wake/all hearts quake.' _(Why James hadn't just called for a search was beyond me, but I would respect his decision in areas concerning his wife. She chose him after all, and there must have been some reason.) It was little wonder that I should figure out that thinly veiled clue... but who was this _'Death Sender'_ come to find her? Was he on our side, or someone set to kill her? These were likely questions to be answered only by whoever had sent the atrocious attempt at poetry.

This raised whole new dilemmas for me, however. I now knew that Lily was set to come back to the wizarding world, but when was the issue. Three years could mean from her departure, from receiving the word of her continued existence, or even three years after this "Death Sender" showed up.

Head slightly fuzzied, I put the note into Harry's gift, the one not yet wrapped, next to the gillyweed I had decided to send along. With Remus about he would be safe to have fun. Even if the man _was_ a werewolf, he was the Marauder I got along with the best, and the one most adept at keeping the Boy-Who-Lived in such a condition. A heavy sigh released itself from my lungs as I sent the owl away with a school owl, condemning myself to spending the rest of vacation grading (the students might not see it this way, as they thought I just liked to torture them, but having the extra essays done just before the holiday kept me busy). Perhaps those attending the Potter family Christmas would know more, and they had a definite right to know what was in the poem, more than I. Lily chose them after all. Having them keep their eyes out for this Death Sender was a paramount priority after all.

Back in my rooms, I flopped into my chair, going for the brandy rather than any essays. Lily would be the deciding factor in the war against Voldemort, that much was clear. But how long would we have to endure the monster's tyranny (for surely he would be about before Lily was free to go) before we found her?

A piece of parchment found its way into my hand, and my eyes ran over the words I had read several hundred times since the letter found its way into my rooms. That had been one year, four months, twenty-four days – I paused to glance at the clock on my wall – seven hours, and thirty-three minutes ago. No, make that thirty four. Lily's good-bye letter was heavily crinkled by now and tear stained, but at least I knew why she left, something that the Potters never bothered to share with me. After all, Lily Evans-Potter had to protect her family, didn't she?

They were the ones she chose after all.

* * *

.Sirius "Snuffles" Black. 

I grinned proudly at the space where once a boy with dark auburn hair, green-brown eyes had stood at a rather short height (like all Potters) just a moment before. I knew he had been trying to get me for a private conversation for a few days now, but I'd not realized he was done with the animagus transformation! Usually it took a lot longer, but most people didn't have a Dark Lord for a tutor or exclusive access to said Dark Lord's notes, not to mention the help of an animagus expert (and the only known person in his dimension to obtain all four animagus forms). What really surprised me was the prosthetic. It was a regular fox paw! It was white from the elbow down (if foxes have elbows that is), like a long sock, and yet I hadn't charmed it for him. This was no spell that any thirteen year old could ever dream of doing, either. The fact that Charlus wasn't great at Charms (good, but not great) made me especially suspicious. Not only was I the only person who knew about his form, but the job would take a lot of experience with warding. Who, then, could have done it?

Instead of showing my curiosity and worry, I grinned even wider. "That's great Chaz!" The smile was a bit too wide, but the young fox didn't seem to notice how far my cheeks were stretching. Even as I slimmed the grin, I was pounced. Since Padfoot, I was easily several stone more than the smallish fox, I was easily on the winning right off the bat. We ducked into a roll, and after several minutes of tussling it was decided that I had won.

"Who am I?" He looked me straight in the eye as this single, simple sentence escaped. It was expected of course, for him to request his Marauder name right after his first official animagus wrestling match. My James had long since told me that, should he die, I could give his son a Marauder nickname. Like I said, _my_ James, meaning _my_ Harry, and even now probably not that because there was _a_ James going about and taking care of my godson… but it was the thought that counted, wasn't it? So I had picked his name after months of thought from the revealing of Charlus' intent and form, and it fit. Besides, he _had_ said that he refused to let anyone else know until he had a form, and the kid had serious trust issues. Giving him an incentive to trust_anyone_ that was outside of his own age group had to be a step in the right direction… and I could only go _so_ long referring to him with a nickname without anyone figuring it out.

Deciding to schmooze the "ceremony" up a bit, I did it royal-knighting style, just for kicks of course. My wand tapped each shoulder lightly. "By the Magic vested in me by Messrs Moony, Prongs, Padfoot-number-1, and about one hundreds generations of wizarding history –" Charlus let out a snort here, but I continued, "I do hence forth dub thee, Charlus Edmund Potter, Messr Faux Paw." My voice had been very formal and serious, but Charlus laughed at me regardless.

"Faux Paw?" He rolled his eyes. "Subtle, Messr Padfoot, _subtle_." I rather agreed, since the nickname didn't actually give much away. Yes, it revealed him to be a mammal by saying he had a faux (fake)_paw_, but nothing beyond. Even then someone might mistake the moniker for faux pas, which was a rather fun way to make fun of him. It worked, certainly. Though it may not work as a super-secret code name because of the issue of obviously talking about his having a fake paw, it was still a good idea… to me anyway.

After my not-quite-charge had gone to bed that night, I sat up thinking about his mysterious transforming arm. The transmogrification charm necessary was a very complex piece of magic that needed a Sonomancy (musical magic) spell to be combined at the exact time of a complete transformation into the animagus form. Not only was it physically impossible to cast on oneself, but Charlus wasn't halfway experienced enough to use it. His choir class had only just started on the most simple of voice based magic, so there was exactly a 0 percent chance that he actually cast it himself. This was beyond NEWT level Sonomancy.

Sure, he always worked ahead (very ahead) in his classes and knew spells that, of his peers, only one or two outside of Harry would even know a couple! But there was a difference between learning spells that the Board of Governors decided to be left out or until later (or being taught spells that the Ministry said he shouldn't) and going beyond his own possible skill and comprehension. One was potentially dangerous and terribly bookworm-ish. The other was _impossible_, even by my standards. His own not-so-great skill at charms (because the spell _did_ have a heavy base in charm work) attested to it.

These thoughts plagued me through the night. I was the only one who knew! If he hadn't come to me for casting, surely he had gone to another for it? I might have guessed Harry, except for two reasons. The first was that Harry knew absolutely nothing of music or sonomancy, since he had never taken the classes. Second was that if Charlus had told him _anything_ or showed any trust to him, Harry would have been floating on cloud nine. The incident on Halloween when Charlus had called him "Bromine" proved it. Harry wanted very much for his brother, his real blood brother (and they were, no matter what Charlus thought on the matter), trusting him at all. Just because they were both very good at occlumency (Harry _was_ a master after all, and Charlus was very good for a novice), it didn't mean either of them were superb secret keepers.

With only three hours of sleep that night, I wasn't exactly looking forward to the Christmas festivities. If the Marauders of here hadn't insisted that they not keep me secret from their families, I would have been just as happy lazing about in dog-form and just watching my first _true_ Christmas with my godson (fifth year hardly counted since everyone was so worried about Arthur after all) since we first met. Instead, I had been introduced to the extended family the night before, though I managed to get the others to leave out the situation with Harry from the conversation. I could only imagine how they would react to finding out that their Harry wasn't actually theirs. It was hard enough to find that they had an alternate version of Sirius Black guarding the boys.

I had been surprised the night before with silky black pajamas that had_polar bears_ of all things on them, let alone that the next morning during the pajama party that I had actually been given things (when had Harry snuck off to buy those dog biscuit shaped chocolates?). It was nice to have a holiday, though a bit disconcerting. Just like Harry once had (I suspected the thoughts had dropped) I knew that too-good-to-be-true was a very real thing. It was proved when Harry opened his gift from Snape.

Those couplets, that horrible poetry and daft rhyme scheme! I knew it all too well. The supposed flow of that Merlin-forsaken "poetry" from the unimaginative minds of the Fates was forever ingrained in my mind. And the cursive on the note was exactly the same as that which penned the small prophecies in my notebook. No, there was _no_ mistaking that.

And_I_was the Death Sender, I had been here before. My mind flashed immediately to the first world, the future of this one. After a small rant that I can't remember now, I turned into Padfoot and curled up on Harry's feet. I had been here before, I knew part of this world's _future_, even told a bit of it to the messy-haired family, though luckily not much. Not many notes had been made and so I hardly remembered what had happened… but now I knew the future. And the future was different.

* * *

.James Potter. 

New Year's Eve left with less fanfare than years previous due to the second year of being without Lily. That would certainly be an interesting way to announce her disappearance; "Welcome to the Potter-Longbottom New Year's Ball! By the way, Lily Potter is not here because she ran away a year and a half ago!" Oh yes, _that_ would go over quite nicely, I must say. It'd have the entire wizarding world buzzing even more than they were over the "Potter Family Mystery" already. We didn't need anymore prying.

I sent the boys away to school with Snuffles and little more than stern words to keep an eye out for Bellatrix Lestrange. Even when I had been a kid she looked like a mass murderer, let alone that she really was one. Charlus made me proud, no matter how I felt about his arm (his arm that a boy who wasn't even his real brother had cut off no less), because he kept Harry in line. My only real son (I had long since figured out that a boy with a mind and soul not that of my son wasn't my son himself) knew the dangers of playing with fire while the adult faux-son was clueless, it seemed. An auror or not, that Harry Potter was too confident in himself to be my Harry. My Harry at least had a sense of mortality.

Refusing to let such emotions show, I had sent them along their way to school, told Snuffles to do his best (and if that wasn't enough he claimed two of his other forms were much more formidable, and he did have a wand anyway), and apparated back home. Today I was going to be spending time with Remus until he left for Hogwarts later, and Sirius before he was set back to finding Lestrange. A novelty card deck with a map of the London Underground was sitting between them when I appeared in the parlor. The gag gift from Sirius for when I turned seventeen was well worn and had seen me lose games many a time. My unlucky deck, so it was no wonder they had picked it for a game of poker.

The game started immediately, Remus taking down my two-pair with a full house, then I had no playable cards to be beaten when Sirius had all the aces. I could only imagine the pranks they would play on me, since each token was a free-prank card in our game. Playing with money was pointless among us (even though Remus wasn't terribly well off, he wouldn't accept money in a rigged game anyway) and strip poker was just stupid (and it'd be over too soon as I would be in my skivvies in minutes). So we played poker for an hour, simply over-grown children having fun before the responsible among us was off to teach the normal-sized ones.

"Prongs," Sirius said finally as he took the blue chips in the center with his pair of kings, "what do you think of Harry?"

My hands paused in their automatic action of bridging the cards before allowing them to be shuffled. "I just want my son back," I stated after I had dealt the cards in question. I glanced at my hand and allowed a small smile to show as I glanced over them. A straight! And a diamond straight no less. Two red chips were placed in the center.

"Fold," Remus said quickly, dropping his cards. Okay, so maybe I didn't have much of a poker face, but my luck had finally changed! The Potter luck wasn't inhibiting me in my quest for card mastery!

"Raise you one," Sirius placed a white chip in the center and my eyes widened. A white? A no-retaliation public prank! I grinned, calling him by placing a white chip (my last one) in the pot. We showed our cards and I smiled. He had a pair of twos! The first time I had ever won with my deck, and for once Sirius didn't have some amazing hand!

As the tokens were in my pile, I realized what had happened. I had _won_. The Potter luck had stopped targeting me.

The next hand was dealt before I stood up, heading for the floo. If the cursed Potter luck wasn't on me, then who?

If I had bothered to look at my cards before flooing to Hogwarts, I would have seen a royal flush gazing up at me with paper eyes.

* * *

.Severus Snape. 

It was two weeks after I sent the gifts for Lily's boys along that anything productive really happened. James (I had finally broken the habit of referring to him as "Potter" some years ago, for Lily's sake) had been of no use on the matter of the poem, or prophecy as he claimed it to be. The letter had little information; he knew who the Death Sender was but could not tell me. He knew where the Death Sender was and when he would come, but again would not say. Didn't he see that I had just as much right as he to know these things? I was Lily's best friend, her confidant!

But I was left out of the loop to brood until the day the students were to return to school. Normally this would include great celebration and being dragged out of my office to help with something or another by the jubilant Headmaster, but instead I was dragged out by a very harried looking Madame Pince.

"Something's wrong with the train, Severus!" She said in her terribly stiff voice as it broke. "It was almost to the station and it just sort of –" Pince at a loss for words was as uncommon as seeing one Hermione Granger in that same state, and as both had enormous vocabularies neither were likely to fall prey to this, but Pince had. "Just come along! The dementors won't leave it be!" With that I was dragged out by my arm, but I was running on my own. A doe patronus was out of my wand in a moment as I started out streaking the bookish woman and made my way outside. I found James Potter was already running down the high stairs into the Entrance Hall, unleashing a large bear from his wand to let it run through the walls down to Hogsmeade to chase my doe.

"Oi! Snape!" While I had managed to refer to my best friend's husband with something akin to at least an attempt not to loathe him, James had never shown much more respect to his wife's best friend than he had in school. "Do you know what's going on?"

"No," We were running side by side, and I was pleased to note that I was doing better than he. Obviously taking his second season off of Quidditch wasn't doing much good for the ex-Chaser of the Wildebeests. "Madame Pince said dementors were attacking the train. I believe all staff who could not cast a corporeal patronus," which was most of them, though the sonomancy instructor (Professor Artemis Stradivarius) had an alternate that worked well enough, "were sent to find those that could; I believe that I was the last called."

"Makes sense." James jumped over a small boulder on the path to Hogsmeade. I snarled, but made no response. Those little back-handed comments had become the way to poke fun at me ever since Lily and I had made peace. He didn't like me and still made fun of me when his wife said to leave off. I hated him with a passion but refrained from anything when the woman I loved told me to. Who, of us, was more devoted to Lily? Not even mentioning that I had a doe patronus while he seemed to think of a grizzly bear as happiness.

Minutes later of running in silence (one could only sprint and talk for a small amount of time after all) we arrived in Hogsmeade and I felt the cold nibbling at my mind while my feet pounded the path to the train station. Occlumency shields sprang up and I put a small muggle chocolate in my mouth (called an M&M, I believe) allowing the despair to be held back as I bore down on the train and within proper seeing distance of the dementors themselves.

As luck would have it (not Potter luck, thankfully), the dementors could not enter the train and were instead stuck outside. But children still screamed as the wrath of Azkaban fell on them, and James stumbled beside me before I gave him a small handful of M&Ms. Though I should never admit it, as lemon drops were to Albus Dumbledore, so M&Ms were to me. I just didn't offer them to students and faculty who deemed fit to visit me. My excuse was that they were small anti-dementor pellets (essentially), but they _were_ rather delicious... for a muggle thing.

There were more patroni than I expected. My doe was off to one side fending away dementors with a deep silver stag that I knew to be James' animagus form, but not the caster. Filius' rhinoceros was teamed with Lupin's Grim, while a spectral abraxan, also of an unknown caster, helped Minerva's vulture from the air. Finally what appeared to be a patronus _werewolf_ was fighting alongside Potter's bear. The last few patroni were out of my viewing, but I noted Albus' lion and Aberforth's goat among those at the far end of the train. There wasn't much to do but wait for aurors to show and hold back the dementors the meager supply of patroni available to Hogsmeade could not conquer.

I popped another few M&M's into my mouth as the screams from my nightmares started up again, simply tossing a bag to Minerva when she walked over, shivering. Albus and Remus would have their own chocolate, and no doubt Remus had apparated to town as soon as he realized James was going to Hogwarts, most likely figuring something had gone wrong on the train. Unless someone had the foresight to stock up their child with a lot of chocolate before coming (though it was just after the holiday, so that was likely) the students would be left Demented until they reached the school.

The aurors finally arrived as the dementors were deciding to just leave, chased away by a small platoon of ten silver animals in addition to those provided by the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade representatives. The students were let off, and luckily several Hufflepuff parents in particular had chipped in for a dementor-proof safe (in other words a trunk full of chocolate) to keep the spirits of the students up in that time.

That night, two questions chased each other around in my head. Why would the dementors attack the train when they were set only to attack the escapees? And what had stopped the train in the first place?

A restless night followed, and several detentions the day after.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, two Snape POVs (my first Snape-ness to date! Wow!), mentions of further branches of magic, and no Harry section for once! Heehee. Oh well... anyway, I remade my chapter plans and cut two pointless chapters, so this story will end August the 6th instead of the 13th, however I might be posting a sappy little "post story" thingy on August 13th. I dunno yet. Oh, and I am officially out of pre-written stuff O.O Well... unless you count the epilogue, but I wrote that a couple weeks ago. 

Aside from that? Sorry it's late, but Monday I did homework, Tuesday I couldn't access the chapter (what little I had written), and Wednesday my dad stayed home sick so I didn't have the time on the computer to get it done on time. And I'm lazy. Sorry! I really try not to be late with these, but sometimes it just isn't possible... mostly because I have no impetus and my muse committed suicide for some pagan ritual back in chapter 14.

On Sonomancy and Chaz's choir class: Sonomancy means sound magic, the magic associated with all things heard, spoken, or involving noise. Technically, any spell with words or incantations are low level sonomancy as they can still be performed with the same result sans-sound. The choir class is part way a fun class for people who like to sing (can you really imagine a high school/secondary school setting without those fun classes like art, acting, and music studies?) and part a study on beginners' sonomancy. I mean, imagine, if you will, the third Harry Potter movie in the great hall with the students singing with the toads croaking. You can't train a toad; the magic in the music has them croak when they need to. Er... that's how I see this anyway.

Oh, and about the Potter luck? I think of it as a curse put on the Potter line ages ago or something so that any wizard of the Great Potter Line basically has about the same luck as Harry and Chaz, which is to say terrible. Thus the luck targets them in different quantities at different times, so Harry or James would have been luckier last year, but now the luck completely drew away from James all of a sudden, get it? And James has a similar take on the situation to Charlus, but as you can probably tell he's a lot sadder and a bit less angry at canon!Harry than my beloved (and much tortured) OC.

An Abraxan is a winged horse as described by the book Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander where it is grouped with Thestrals as well.

Finally: The train takes less time when it isn't doing the initial "take everyone to school" trip. It _is_ a magic train. Besides, everyone seems to get home in decent time, so why not back after the Winter Holidays? Just kinda what I figure...

Erm... parting words: I'm debating on one of my pairings (I'm not going to be pairing heavy, but teenagers do get into relationships after all). So, here it is: ChazxLuna or ChazxDaphne? If you care at all, great, tell me what you think. If not? Oh well. I can make the decision myself. Heck, I'll probably do both because not everyone can have the indomitable (and lame) pairing of HarryxGinny going for them. On that point, I won't be doing HarryxGinny because Harry is 20-some and Ginny is practically a kid to him. He's not a pedophile.

Anyway, have a good week! (wow, 12k reads O.O that's like... 6.something words per read. Kinda cool...)


	19. Demented and the Diadem

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 18**

**Demented and the Diadem  
**

**"Law of Probability Dispersal: Whatever it is that hits the fan will not be evenly distributed."**

**Roger Angell**

.Charlus Potter.

" – And the bartender says, 'oh, that's the peanuts! They're complimentary!'" Neville declared the punch line, eliciting chuckles throughout the compartment (well, Luna ended up rolling on the floor laughing, but she's a bit batty). It _was_ a funny joke, for a pun. I snagged a chocolate frog from the communal pile that was on the seat between myself and Hannah, giving the card a good look over. Another Ptolemy, unfortunately (I had about 23 by then). Across from me sat Luna, who was reading the New Year's edition of the Quibbler that included a special article about how the Potter family guard dog, Snuffles, was the first Azkaban escapee ("Azkaban Breakouts: Even a Dog Can Do It!"). By that point I was seriously considering actually getting a subscription to the magazine just so I wouldn't spit pumpkin juice all over Luna's copy.

As the idea was thought on (and Luna helped up from the floor by a slightly-annoyed Hermione), the train started rolling to a stop. Quickly, we all stood, Hannah with her cat, Felix, and Neville with Trevor, ready to disembark at Hogsmeade station. However, the train stopped about ten feet off from the platform. It wasn't too large a problem of course, as anyone too afraid to hop the extra three feet down could be levitated our picked up and set down by an upper year. No, the issue was _not_ that the train had stopped ten feet shy, but _why._

A large blue barrier was stretched in front of the train, sort of like a trampoline without the bounce. In front of that barrier stood a tall figure, female as the prefect traveling down the train reported, and quite mad-looking. An owl had already been sent to the castle by the Head Boy (Percy Weasley) to have a Professor deal with the situation. To block something as large as a train with a magical barrier meant that the woman would have to be quite strong magically, and it would be best to have a trained adult deal with the situation... whatever that situation actually was.

Only mild surprise came over the compartment at seeing Dumbledore himself striding along the train towards the glowing blue barrier and the small shadow against it (being in the middle of the train meant we had little view after all). Slightly more surprise came when the figure started trying to _hex_ the Headmaster. An all-out duel broke soon, but all I saw was various colored lights flaring and crashing into buildings and such.

Mid duel, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I stiffened. Glancing about only revealed that my friends were pulling away from the windows, now shivering. The spots of steam from where our faces had been pressed against the glass were fogging and spreading, the entire temperature of the compartment going down swiftly. Even before that niggling feeling one gets in the back of one's mind at the thought danger had set in, Luna fainted dead away. She hadn't had any of the chocolate sitting about the compartment that day.

Within five seconds of Luna's collapse (and having quickly been lifted up onto a seat), the cold was increasing and the niggling was there. I could already hear Riddle's sibilant tones telling Sonia to kill someone. The first time with the dementors I had been prepared, built up my occlumancy walls, and not even had a hint as to what my mind considered my worst memory. The second strike I had expected too; I had loaded up on chocolate and managed to escape with nothing but a hissed "Kill" before the small army of dementors had been banished. But this time a glance out the window revealed every dementor from the school was sweeping toward the train. My walls were slack, I hadn't eaten much chocolate, and there were easily a hundred dementors on the way, increasing the cold pressure in my mind. If I could go my life without feeling anything like this ever again, I would have done anything it took.

Screwing my eyes shut, I drew my wand from my robe pocket, thinking about Christmas Eve and my christening as Faux Paw. A silver light shone and I fell over, shaking. Sweet Circe, it was cold, and the hissing was louder. Our voices were always the same when speaking parseltongue. There was not even the slightest difference to our voices when we had spoken parseltongue. Maybe that was normal; after all, Harry had the same voice for the snake tongue. But both he and I had gained the second language through unnatural means. More hissing, and the enraged tones of Sonia had me curled up. My eyes were still closed and I could hardly imagine just what was going on...

Eventually everything receded, a shout going through the train to disembark. Though no longer cold, I was nowhere near warm in the chilly January weather. Everyone had pulled out extra cloaks against the freezing air, and Neville and I carried Luna between us while the other girls ate a frog a piece to tide them over until we could reach the carriages, and hot chocolate. Luna was brought up to the Hospital Wing by the Professors with the small group of others who had fainted, Harry, three Slytherin first years, and Percy's girlfriend among them.

With shaky sighs we were taken up the path to the cliff on which Hogwarts stood. The skeletal abraxan leading our cart merely trundled up, and though I could barely see it from the corner of my eye, I felt it was clearer than before, whatever it was. Maybe they were the "thestral" things that Harry had mentioned flying to the Ministry? Either way, it wasn't something I wanted to contemplate while the chocolate was still at work, and I slumped into my seat. If only the Potter luck weren't so... _unlucky_.

* * *

That night it was revealed that the mystery woman who tried to duel Dumbledore (and then apparated away as the dementors converged on the train) was, in fact, one Bellatrix Walpurga Lestrange. This caused a panic to come over the melancholy assembled students, but everything had been "sorted out", all students having been given copious amounts of chocolate to revive them and all _very_ affected persons (such as Harry and Luna) were given rest and Honeydukes' finest in the Hospital Wing. School would resume a day late, however, so that the teachers could up the security a few notches. Snuffles was guarding Harry in the Hospital Wing through dinner and the night, and it wasn't for a week that he deemed Harry fit enough to be without him for a few hours.

Personally, I think he was just bored of hearing Ron boast to the other students about how Harry had formed a "glowing silver deer-thingy" when the dementors came so it could fight them. Any teacher interest in the subject was dropped when Harry said Remus taught him (well, he always said Professor Lupin, as apparently it had been habitual even years after my godfather stopped teaching), aside from that he was, once again, showing how impressive he was magically with Defense as with every other class... well, except for Severus, but our third honorary uncle was naturally suspicious and not so easily impressed. After all, anyone with three months of evenings, tops, could eventually learn the spell. Wizards were just notoriously lazy.

Actually, over the next two months, Severus seemed around a lot more. True, he and I had always been up for chats and such (in first year he had been confused about Harry's sudden change in attitude regarding him, as he was no longer treated like a pseudo-uncle but a scary – yet admirable – man whom he barely knew. Finding out that said change had been applied to me, but more negatively, did nothing to assuage that concern), there had been little active seeking out on his part. However, since the New Year, he would ask my help in his brewing (which _was_ enjoyable, even if I botched a fifth year sleeping draught he tried to get me to brew). We spoke more often, about Mum perhaps (I learned some new stories about her exasperation with Dad in their school days, which were always fun), even my misfortune the year before. He was the first person to really sit down and find out what had happened throughout the year, and I was grateful. Harry thought I was okay, Dad wouldn't want to think about it, and the rest of the family (and Snuffles) assumed I had gone to therapy of some sort. The fact that he took the time to do what no one else thought to made me appreciate "Uncle Sev" all the more.

Even though I was expressly forbidden from bringing him into the loop, I always told him something. Like to not worry about the first Azkaban escapee, that only Bellatrix was a threat, and while a big one, not so bad as both. Thankfully, he understood what the limits of my ability to reveal things were (and, while no wizard's oaths were used, it was just bad manners to reveal secrets that weren't mine to let loose), so there was never any pressure to tell something I shouldn't. He learned things to help him in his own search to the answers about Mum, and I had the company of an adult who acted as more a friend than a parental figure of some sort or a teacher. An even trade, I thought.

Just before the start of March, progress was made on the horcrux front. Snuffles had, ever since the New Year, taken a liking to going into the Room of Requirement whenever possible. He would drag Harry, Remus, or myself into the room (I was quickly enchanted by it) and spend hours examining the diadem atop a hideous bust. As a horcrux, one could never be certain how well it would be protected, and he didn't like fiendfyre. Saving the diadem, the icon of wisdom, would be an important goal. After all, to reintroduce something like that to the world... it would be magnificent, help make human kind better or something.

It was on in the last couple days of February, 1994, that the solution was found, and it was _dead simple._ Snuffles calmly dropped a handkerchief on top of the diadem, lifted it lightly, and wrapped the artifact in cloth. It was dropped into my bag before I even had time to gape properly. The fact that removal was so simple... one could really wonder at Voldemort's sanity... not that anyone could accuse the mass murderer of being sane in the first place.

"It was that easy?" I sent an incredulous look at the master-animagus. Large black puppy-dog eyes stared up and me, drawing out a scowl, but I scratched his ears anyway. "Good dog..." I murmured finally and lead the way down to the second floor. Luckily, it was time for Slytherin Divinations (which no one actually took, if not due to the "pact" the year before, than because it was a stupid class), and Harry was in his Defense with the Hufflepuff (and Remus), so Snuffles had me for the next near-hour. In Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, I sent my companion, who was back to being a person, an exasperated look. "Can't we have done this tomorrow?"

"On a Hogsmeade day? No thanks," Snuffles snorted, shaking his shaggy head with a grin. "I rather like seeing children run around with a sugar high more than dealing with basilisks, even if she _is_ your familiar. It's a good enough Friday activity." And with that he jumped down the nicely cleaned tubes, my bag in tow. I rather_had_ to follow, seeing as how I would have to get to Transfigurations, preferably _with_ my homework.

"Snuffles!" I snapped when I fell onto the mound of pillows that said person had added to the landing after his first visit. "Give me back my bag!" He was already walking the path between mounds of basilisk skins. (There was less skin now, as I had given Severus quite a bit for Christmas now I knew about it, and still more was in Snuffles' journal-thing should he ever be in need for money) It was aggravating, really, to have him going off without consulting anyone else. At least when I came alone, he knew there was a chance I was here. With both gone without a word and the diadem in tow, there was no chance of help if there was a cave-in or something. Of course, that could mangle the diadem nicely and take care of the horcrux in the process, but I didn't like the idea of getting squished by any falling rocks, thank you very much.

"No," was the simple answer as I caught up. Luckily for me, he was walking at a leisurely pace, so I didn't have to worry about my asthma medication dying on me, but I had jogged about halfway to the interlocking doors to the Main Chamber. "Lighten up Chaz!" he laughed, swinging my bag out of my reach. "Just ask Sonia for some venom, we immerse the diadem, and you get to Transfiguration with time to spare." Somehow, I doubted we could do all of that in half an hour. "Well, it's not like you want to grab onto a horcrux in your bag while you look for a quill, right? It might be a bit of a give away to Minerva if your arm explodes when you're supposed to start taking notes."

"Instead, I can get detention for being late," was my miffed reply before I opened the great stone gates of the Chamber of Secrets. Scanning my eyes throughout the afore mentioned Chamber, I caught sight of a small movement in one of the pipes. _"Sonia, I have a favor to ask of you,"_ I hissed into the large hall, keeping my eyes glued to where I had caught the movement. The sound of scales over stone caught my attention in another pipe as Sonia exited, her one good eye closed shut (Fawkes having taken out the other on my _dearest_ unbrother's word) for safety's sake.

_"Yes Master Chaz,"_ Sonia hissed in response as she came upon us. _"What is it that Soul-Master and friend desire? You carry something which smells of Foul-Soul."_ For some reason, Sonia referred to me as Soul-Master instead of Soul-Bonded like all other familiars would their wizard or witch. I suspected Riddle had something to do with it.

_"I need your venom," _I returned quickly. _"We have a piece of Not-Tom,"_ this was the name adopted for Voldemort since it didn't translate into Parseltongue, and Flight from Death could not be considered a name in the snake-tongue. Sonia still held the idea of Tom with love, even if her familiar had died, _"It must be destroyed. Your venom will do this."_

The serpent's large head tilted to the side in thought, a habit she admitted to getting from her first familiar, Salazar Slytherin. A few feet away (he was not comfortable being too close to a snake with fangs as long as his own forearms) Snuffles had opened my bag and was pulling out the diadem, handkerchief keeping him from touching the offending item. The sullied artifact was carefully unwrapped and a nearby river stone turned into a smooth stone basin, shallow and wide to fit the circlet. Finally, Sonia nodded.

_"You may have my venom,"_ she acquiesced.

Milking a snake was not an easy thing to do, especially without the normal technical equipment needed. Snuffles had simply transfigured two pairs of dragon hide gloves and what appeared to be (and was) a giant sponge. Mind, I had no clue how it was normally done, but most likely not this way. Sonia simply opened her mouth, allowed Snuffles and I to pierce the sponge with her fang, and waited as it was saturated with the venom that coursed down her fangs. The sponge was squeezed dry into the bowl until it slopped over and the smoking gloves discarded. They were turned back into quills and parchment upon hitting the floor, still smoking from the lethal substance.

With the bowl filled and gloves discarded, Snuffles lifted the diadem and started to move toward the basin. Problem is, he stopped. A hissy whisper permeated the feet between us, leaving me a bit heady. It was too low to make out, too quiet to be Sonia.

"Chaz, maybe you should take care of this," Snuffles murmured, dropping the diadem to the floor with sudden horror. His eyes were wide, flicking about, and he seemed paler than normal, shaky even, for the moment I could spare to glance. The circlet fell to the stone floor with a clatter, bouncing slightly away from the white handkerchief that was embroidered with a simple "S.B" in the corner. Already he had stepped away. I knelt down by the circlet that had come to rest between the handkerchief and myself.

Its design was anything but simple, bronze interlaced in the most fantastic of patterns with sapphires held in the metallic grasps. It was a magnificent artifact, why should we chance to destroy it at all? It was a work of art, the ultimate fount of knowledge! The Lady Ravenclaw's family heirloom that had passed mother to daughter for generations until the Grey Lady, Ravenclaw's own daughter, had stolen it, or so Harry had said. Shouldn't it be made to last for all time? Such knowledge I could have! We could be great –

I flinched back, horrified. My right hand had almost touched it... when had I reached for it? Hadn't I been going for the handkerchief? Who knew what that damned horcrux could do... The diary wouldn't have been able to grasp at anyone without first making contact through the written word and exchanging secrets, I recalled. According to Harry, the locket hadn't done anything outside of aggravating the bearer until destruction was imminent. How sentient were these soul shards that they would know when death was upon them from inside an inanimate object? The delicate circlet that lay mere inches from my fingers (when had I moved forward?) was sending out a call. No doubt if I picked it up even with my left, it would wrangle in the magicks binding my arm, wouldn't it? It promised me knowledge unfathomable, wisdom beyond my years. Did every horcrux have this final defense? I stood, holding both arms closely to my chest. I couldn't risk touching it, couldn't stand to be _near_it. Two steps back, resisting the forward pull.

Pursing my lips, I lifted my gaze back to Snuffles. He was still heavily shaken. Well, it made sense; he had spent years pursuing and obtaining knowledge, and here was an artifact which could give him all that he desired, promised it even. Knowledge, after all, is Power. Power, however, lead almost always to corruption. As a Slytherin, I was bound to desire Power in one form or another. There was no way that I could destroy it, now was there? I wanted knowledge, control over my live and environment, whereas Snuffles desired the wisdom necessary to guide his loved ones, his family and friends, through the up-and-coming war. Both of us wanted the power that the diadem could freely give us, and couldn't personally destroy it. The pull was too tempting.

The diadem was left in Sonia's Chamber with the basin of venom as Snuffles and I resurfaced. I would have to reveal Sonia to another person now. Harry, of course, was out of the question, as he would doubtless see her as some sort of threat and go ape-shit. While I skipped Transfigurations, Snuffles and I decided that Remus was the best option. He would not be tempted, he was too reasonable for that.

That night, the issue was breached while Harry was at dinner. My godfather, sensible as ever, agreed, but would be unavailable until the ninth. The day before he birthday, as a matter of fact. Time set, I had departed to go study. I would not be taking knowledge from the cursed circlet. Unlike Harry's lax nature, I would work for my goals. Things don't just come at my call like they do for the Boy-Who-Lived, and I would not fall to the folly that I would be treated the same as my brother (or unbrother in this case) at every turn. We were separate entities. He had greatness thrust upon him, and I had to make my own. That was all.

March 9th came quickly, and I led Remus down to the Chamber with Snuffles. As this was his first visit, he was interested in everything he saw ("Those skins could be highly valuable for a battle cloak," he mentioned as we passed through the chasm of the shed skins), and was terrified at the sight of Sonia. Luckily, it was quickly overcome, though, like Snuffles, he was still quite wary. Understandably so.

However, the mistake of the situation was evident the moment his eyes caught the diadem. He knelt down, I thought for the new handkerchief that lay on top of it, but it was not so. A glint of bronze showed when he stood, both hand gripping the diadem. The handkerchief remained on the ground.

It was over before I could move. My godfather had fainted, but unlike Snuffles and myself, he did what he meant to do. Ravenclaw's Diadem lay in the now half-empty basin of venom, eating away at some of the gems. A high pitched scream came from the basin, and that was all.

My godfather didn't wake up, and the family spent his birthday worrying not over the color of frosting on the cake, but what would happen when he woke up.

* * *

Author's Note: Know what I find ironic? Walpurga Black. She's Sirius' mum, married her first cousin (Orion Black – yes, they are really first cousins) and is named both for a star (as with all the Black family and progeny there of) and a holiday called Walpurgis Night, the least magical night of the year, being the end of April and the opposite end of the spectrum from Halloween. Just something that has always struck me as odd but I never actually had a chance to rant about. Mreh.

"Rock falls, everyone dies" was flashing through my head while I was writing about Charlus being worried about a cave-in. Just a random thought. On that note, my friend Christina has a saying that she taught me when I was about 12: "Knowledge is Power, Power is Corruption... Hey! I'm learning to be Corrupt!"

And yes, I'm still diverting more from the Harry Potter time-line with Bellatrix being more aggressive in her efforts than Sirius. What do you expect? She's insane _and_ murderous! I mean really, I hate how people always have it happen the exact same way as in canon.

Okay, so I said I would explain each horcrux as they came along. The diadem symbolizes wisdom, a thirst for knowledge, and confidence in one's own knowledge. In essence, Ravenclaw with a dash of good natured curiosity and arrogance. For this horcrux, Voldemort removed his curiosity, his thirst for knowledge. Think of it this way; did Voldemort care to find out the Prophecy before going after the Potters? No. He acted in instant fury and went ahead, did the (very twisted and evil) Gryffindorish thing of trying to kill the threat straight away. He had no curiosity to find out the potential consequences of his actions, nor the wisdom to temper himself and wait for the opportune moment. It was just "oh, he might be able to kill me somehow? Not if I get him first!" A mentality which, obviously, got him killed. Not that great. His later thirst for knowledge, I think, is created by Harry's blood running through his veins. We all know that it killed the cat, and lions are just very large cats, aren't they?

(this is the part where I apologize and give excuses for lateness) And while I'm sorry about my hiatus from last week, it was necessary. I had a test in each of my classes (excluding Acting... but I did have to memorize a whole mess of lines and preset a scene, so nyah), one each day that week. Unfortunately, I actually had to study for once too. Not a fun thing. Add to that my muse's suicide four chapters ago (didn't I mention that in the last author's note?) and I just couldn't make myself get anything done that week. Sorry. On the bright side, sometime between now and Spring Break (last full week of March for me) I'll be doing a double post. Hopefully I will post on time over the break too, though I won't hold my breath. I'll be in Hickville, Idaho (actually called Prairie, but Hickville is just as accurate) and without even cell reception, let alone access to the interwebs. Seriously apologizing, but if I can't visit my mom over the summer (insert attempt to get a summer job here) then it has to be for Spring Break.

Have a nice week.


	20. A Viper in the Lion's Den

**Pre A/n: Um... various of sections, but they're all short. Sorry. That's all I think... read on!**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 19**

**A Viper in the Lion's Den**

**"There is no necessary connection between the desire to lead and the ability to lead, and even less the ability to lead somewhere that will be an advantage to the led."**

**Bergen Evans**

**"To avoid complications she never kept the same address  
In conversation she spoke just like a baroness  
Met a man from China went down to Geisha Minor  
(Killer, killer, she's a killer Queen)  
But then again incidentally, if you're that way inclined**

**Perfume came naturally from Paris (naturally)  
For cars she couldn't care less  
Fastidious and precise**

**She's a Killer Queen  
Gunpowder, gelatin  
Dynamite with a laser beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind (anytime)"**

**Song: Killer Queen by Queen **

.Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

I stood over my Defense teacher. His body was aligned in a comfortable position, tucked evenly under the white linen sheets of a Hospital bed. He had appeared in the night just before midnight while Poppy was retrieving more potions from Severus. When she returned, Remus was laying in a bed, breathing heavily. Scans showed nothing beyond burned hands, though a new spell invented to keep up with a muggle brain scanner showed his was working a hundred miles a minute, particularly those parts of the brain that sorted new information. With him had appeared a bronze circlet with sapphire stones that left everyone stumped as to what it was.

It had been three weeks since then, and now students were away for Easter break. I sighed. This was too soon for the end-of-year catastrophe. I had known since Harry and Charlus started that something would happen each year; it was obvious. The troll, I had hoped, was it, but Quirrell's betrayal (and subsequent return to the light side) showed it was not so. After two years with a June showdown, it was obvious that each year end would have something horrible happen until Harry defeated Voldemort... or the other way around.

"Albus, Sirius Black is in your office," a portrait said suddenly. I said my thanks and left the wing sending one final glance at the lycanthropic professor. Hopefully, he would be alright after the mysterious accident that had no clues. But hope was a hot commodity, and replies were running low.

After saying the password "Turkish Delight" to the gargoyle guarding the office, I ascended to my rooms. Auror Colonel Sirius Black was lounging in a purple armchair across from the red throne-like chair that I always sat in. It was always odd to see my students when they no longer were, yet here he was, Sirius the infamous auror colonel, sitting in my office. When one heard the name "Sirius Black," normally a prankster was brought to mind... until recently. It was the more serious Sirius who sat before me, and I didn't have any idea as to what his purpose was.

"Sirius, welcome back," I moved around my desk to sit. "Would you like a sherbet lemon?" He shook his head. "Ah, well, what brings you to my office today?"

"Albus, you realize you are one of four adult wizards I trust implicitly, correct?" He began. When conversations began as such, business was meant. A solemn nod was my reply. "Well, James and Remus already know what's going on, and while I believe that both agree with me on the matter, James is too conflicted to do anything, and Remus can't, now can he? Regulus... well, he can't know. But you, Albus? You're the most trustworthy wizard in all of England. You're the one I can trust with this, even if that _other_," a scowl marred his face. Other? "doesn't agree with me on this. I'm sure it's only because of him you weren't told to begin with."

Perhaps all my old students knew how best to perk my curiosity, or perhaps only the Marauders. I knew James to be rarely be conflicted, even now with Lily vanished. Unless it was on the matter of her being gone? Yes, that could be it. Still, he spoke with the tone of someone who had a large secret and needed an ally. So I listened.

It was shocking. The circlet had been a horcrux, destroyed by Remus using basilisk venom in secret. He claimed it likely that Snuffles (he seemed resistant to even mention the dog, although why he _would_ mention it was confusing) and perhaps Charlus had put him up to it. That he even knew what a horcrux was, let alone that Voldemort created many, was a surprise. His knowledge of what and the likelihood of where each one was? That really shocked me.

However, it was his revelation regarding Harry that shook me. _Merlin_. It really took the cake, and probably threw said cake back in my face too.

* * *

.Severus Snape.

The murky depths of a mud-like potion stared at me as I added the final turn. It was like clockwork now for me to create this potion; after all, I had been making it all year for Lupin now that he was off the Ministry payroll and health plan. However, it really was a false hope as to why I was bothering to make the brew. The friendly school lycanthrope would not awake to take the potion in the next hour before the full moon, just as he hadn't the other nights this week or before any moon after his mysterious hospitalization, and I would continue to look after him each evening with Tonks, Charlus and the guard dog. It had been that way for three months.

In that three months, I had been taking care of what Defense classes fit into my schedule while Albus took on the rest, though it was not his forte. True, the man was a genius at dueling and could use a patronus like any _competent_ wizard ought to, but he wasn't exactly a Defense "wiz" as the children say these days. Without Lupin (and perhaps even with, though his creature knowledge surpassed mine) I was the best choice for Defense professor short of calling in Alastor Moody himself, but I was also the _only_ Potions Master willing to teach such untalented curs as Hogwarts had to offer. So a spotty education was all the students were to get. It seemed that the Defense Curse was making up for letting Quirrell stay for more than a year by offing Lupin early.

Still, I made the Wolfsbane Potion each month, just in case any progress was made with Lupin. It showed as a sign of hope to Charlus, and perhaps Harry too, that there was a chance of their uncle waking.

But there wasn't. That was rather the point, wasn't it? We wasted valuable resources that could, perhaps, help were he awake. But potions could not be taken, except for intravenously, when someone was in a coma. Add to that, no one knew whether it was safe to do so for a werewolf, so there was little to be done aside from monitor him. St. Mungo's wouldn't take a werewolf in a coma. Who knew what he would do on the full moon?

Except that nothing had happened on the full moons yet. Not a twitch, a lengthening of tooth or claw. Even a bushy tail sprouting from his pants wasn't something to happen. There was not one thing happening to the lycanthrope on the full moon, and that was what frightened me. A human coming out of a coma scared me, because they were often irrational or violent... but having the wolf mind suppressed for that long as well? Who knew what could happen? Not I, not Albus, and not Poppy.

I sighed, bottling the potion that had to drunk fresh. Surely, something would be done. Charlus was always so sad these days because of his godfather's state. Even as his surrogate godfather, I could not fill that gap. I didn't dare to try.

Such thoughts whirled through my mind as I mounted the steps to the Hospital Wing. The halls were reasonably empty, given that it was two hours after dinner, with a few stragglers on their way back from the library (Ravenclaws) or detentions. Most, however, were in their common rooms celebrating the end of exams. Despite my general outlook, I did sympathize with them. The past year, with the various appearances of Bellatrix Lestrange around Hogsmeade and the one break in, had been hectic. Even with my knowledge of the first escapee not being a threat, I knew others were worried as to what that mysterious man would be up to. To be honest, I didn't entirely believe Charlus' side of it either.

With the Hospital Wing door opened, I set the potion on the tray next to Lupin's bed just as I had every night for the past week. His face was still pale, the muscular stasis charm in place to prevent atrophy, and his limbs were arranged comfortably. I bid a good evening to my colleague's (very pregnant) wife and the small girl sitting in her lap and left. When I was outside the doors, I opened up the Marauders' Map copy given to me by the perplexing patient (every teacher had one with its own password, mine being "I solemnly swear I am a snarky, greasy git", which I would have dismembered Lupin for if I hadn't already known that James had charmed the original map to never open to me unless I said that, and even _then_ it insulted me personally).

All seemed in order. The stragglers were reaching their common rooms, most Ravenclaws being those who preferred quiet to upper classmen throwing butterbeers around. I finished my scan, noting that Harry was visiting Hagrid with his guard dog in tow, and nodded. Nothing was out of the ordinary for Hogwarts, it seemed.

Maybe if I had waited another minute before turning my map off, I could have seen the dot labeled "Bellatrix Lestrange" enter the grounds.

* * *

.Harry Potter.

"Thanks Hagrid! I think the commotion's probably died down by now, I'll see you tomorrow!" I called out as I left the hut, Sirius loping along at my side. Hagrid waved back and closed his door while I turned my attention to the grounds. It was a mildly cloudy night with the moon not-yet peaking over the trees. Shadows drifted along the edge of the grounds, dementors. They were likely to get their fill this night. Everything was terribly calm, as if mocking that there would be no werewolf on the grounds this night.

A scowl marred my features. They had gone behind my back to deal with the diadem! When I found out that Remus was in the Hospital Wing with a _bronze circlet_, I had been shocked. Would he have gone after a horcrux on his own? But no, Charlus and Sirius had come straight to me and explained that, as a matter of fact, they had asked him for help when they both found themselves too tempted by knowledge to deal with it themselves. That they had let Remus get zapped by the diadem without monitoring to be sure he wouldn't have that same temptation. Sure, Remus was reasonable, but Ron was as brave as they came and nearly fell to the locket! And doing it in the Chamber of Secrets... well, I was horrified to find that Charlus had a premature familiar bond with the_basilisk_ of all things. Yes, I'd had moments where something that could kill an army by looking at them would be useful, but to bond to it? I'd never even found my familiar, but I knew people generally _liked_ theirs, and liking a basilisk was beyond disturbing.

I knew to expect something tonight, really I did. Sirius had taken us on exam night... but I got lax, I suppose. After all the differences in Bellatrix's attack pattern (she never attacked Ron's curtains for one), I had started to believe that, maybe, it really would be completely different. I ought to have known she would take chances where she saw them though.

I was tackled from the left suddenly by Sirius as a red beam whizzed through the air my head had occupied. In the dark, I couldn't see where the source was, but it (she most likely) was in the forest, somewhere. Before I could do much more than roll onto my stomach to stand again, Sirius had turned into himself, wand at the ready and his mysterious journal in his hand, just in case. What the man managed to keep in it was amazing, more so that it actually had use in battle!

"I finally get some revenge," Sirius smirked, "and she doesn't even know it's me. This'll be fun." Then Sirius stood up, form towering between me and the forest as I pushed myself into some semblance of a sitting potion, crouched and on the defensive. The reminder of Sirius dying (or not), combined with Bellatrix's onslaught, was going to make all of this interesting.

Another red spell (it was too dark to be a stunner...) shot forth from the darkened forest, this time further right, but Sirius simply turned his body a bit and it glided by his shoulders and a few feet above my head. I glanced about, hoping for some sign of where the demon-woman could be, but there was no help coming from the low light of the moon as it barely crested the heights of the trees. It was torture to have to wait for her to strike and become visible, but I had to. The fact that, as a thirteen going on fourteen year old wizard, in body leastways, I truly needed Sirius' protection. Last year's skirmish against Riddle (I really needed to get on some sort of fitness program) had proven that very much.

"Stupefy!" I rolled immediately, not thinking. The voice had come from so close behind me! I merely went between Sirius' legs as he whirled about, and I pulled from my hasty dodge to see Bellatrix Lestrange, in a better form than ever I had seen her. Obviously, the Malfoys had been giving her the appropriate funds, or at least food, to get by, which Sirius hadn't had. There was absolutely no way that I could overpower her like I had done Sirius when I was really thirteen, and back then he'd thought he deserved it anyway.

It quickly dissolved into a duel, Bellatrix tossing about dark curses like candy at a parade and Sirius countering each one perfectly. When one of the dark red spells that the hell-bitch was so fond of seemed to get by his defenses, it didn't even do anything. It was terribly surprising, and I had stumbled forward. It was the same spell she had hit him with in the Department of Mysteries, I was sure, yet instead of freezing him in a look of horror, nothing happened. Bellatrix was obviously in shock as well and paused her onslaught. An unknown indigo colored spell set her back on track for the duel, unfortunately, and it seemed to go on for ages.

In auror training, I had been in at least a hundred duels and assault simulations. The average duel lasted no longer than a minute because most were not suited for combat. A duel between two skilled people either ended with the first three volleys or could last until one dropped of exhaustion. Even in my world, I had never seen any single duel last quite so long as this one seemed.

But, then, none of those duels were interrupted by dementors either. With my mother's dying screams ringing in my ears, I collapsed, not even thinking to cast the patronus, just wondering if this was, yet again, the only way to ever hear the voices of those I loved.

* * *

.Bellatrix Lestrange.

By sheer luck, I came across him. I had been at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, testing the wards near the half-giant's "house" when I saw him. A figure, relatively short and reasonably scrawny, was leaving the giant's hut, calling out a good-bye with a large canine at his side. Not many features could be made out, but I could tell it was him. The moon, just cresting the tree tops, showed his hair black. Yes, this was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, not that this would apply much longer.

"Demens!" I murmured, waving my wand in the shape of a convex hexagon. Dark red light spilled forth and shot towards his head as I ran to the side. Unfortunately, the dog had jumped on him, letting my curse go wide. Cursing, I prepared to send a second spell, but paused.

The dog was gone, and instead a man was shooting to stand up, glancing about. Who-? Ah, but as he turned and the moon caught his face, I recognized the man. He had been in the cell next to mine a year ago, before escaping himself. It was because of him that I managed to escape in the first place, muttering about escape plans. The idea of wandlessly summoning a dementor's robe and weaving a Demens curse in the air about me… that was pure genius! It was as if the man-turned-dog was spending his entire life escaping from Azkaban, impossible as it was thought to be. At first I thought to owe him thanks… but as the brat's defender, his literal guard dog, I could not owe him anything more than a Demens curse himself.

"Demens!" I murmured again from my new position, now nearer, a mere ten feet away. However, he simply turned a bit and allowed the spell to continue on until it struck a cliff over the Hogwarts lake. Already in motion, I cast a "Stupefy!" at the boy. He ducked away, and before I could do anything more the dog had engaged me in a duel.

And, indeed, some duel it was! It was as though he knew every dark spell in my arsenal, countering each one, even those I had invented. When the spell designed to set aflame the blood was diverted – the Dark Lord's own creation! – I was enthralled. Who could be so good as this? And what was more, he sent back spells I had never before heard of. One caused a rock to implode, another set alight the air itself, a ring of fire burning above us as some form of beacon! Any spell he used, Light or even Dark, could be deadly, but I was lucky. Blacks were always lucky.

With yet another Demens curse sent out (I did so love that spell) I was ecstatic to see him hit… except that nothing happened. He did not stumble, gasp, fall to the ground, or even _frown!_ A curse that duplicated the dementors' effects did nothing to this mysterious man! In retrospect, I had realized that the real thing did nothing either, but I had no time to really think.

Our duel lasted five minutes before the chill set in. While I was slowly being attacked by the darker memories in my mind, falling back, he didn't stop. There was no slowing in his assault. The Potter boy was collapsed on the ground beside him, and yet this one person resisted every attack of the dementors as nearly a hundred slowly bore down on us. By then, we were not the only ones on the Grounds of course. The giant had attempted to pick up the Potter boy, but I had sent Demens curses whenever he dared, and the man had soon learned better. No, it was the combined force of the dementors and a garishly dressed Albus Dumbledore that caused me to rethink my position.

I took in a deep breath, waved my wand once, twice, three times, and allowed a large explosion of smoke to come out. In the confusion I ran away. If I could not take down the one who supposedly conquered my Lord, it was time to find the man himself.

* * *

.Sirius "Snuffles" Black.

A dark red curse struck me straight in the chest, but dissipated immediately. There was nothing that that spell could do to me; I was immune to the dementor effect after all. While my evil opponent stood in shock, I intoned "Somnus," although the high level sleeping spell was blocked. The Demens curse was abandoned after that, except for very unusual moments where she would shoot over my shoulder (I later found that she was aiming at Hagrid who was attempting to get Harry to safety).

As I sent a jelly-legs jinx her way, I noted a swarm of dementors heading over. A quick glance told me that Harry was unconscious and Bellatrix weaving on the spot. This was my chance to divert the future! "Glacialis Astrum!" I called. The spell was a specialty of the Black family, the freezing star charm. It was designed to deal with blood traitors in the family and taught to each member when they received their first wand, before schooling. I felt it fitting that I should use this powerful powder-blue spell to take down the "most loyal" of the Black's, Orion's shoulder, Bellatrix.

However, a smoke explosion rose up and covered the dueling area in a thick gray smoke. When it had cleared, I was relieved to see Harry was still where I had left him, but Bellatrix was gone and the dementors continuing their normally tortuously slow approach. In addition, several members of the Hogwarts staff were bearing down on me, Snape and Dumbledore among them.

I didn't bother to fight when the old codger sent a binding spell at me, though I kept my feet. My wand was tucked into my journal, so I didn't care what they did to me. Already I could see the staff's strength flagging, even as several patroni circled the group to stave off any lingering wraiths. Snape would stumble, pulling out an dark bag and pop what appeared to be multicolored pills in his mouth. Dumbledore was obviously weakened by them, likely thinking of his sister and Grindelwald. To my left, taking up my arm, was McGonagall, her posture for once imperfect, and my right guard was Hagrid, shaking like a leaf as he carried Harry in his arms.

"Let me guess; I'm off to the highest room in the tallest tower where no one will find me save McNair and a Dementor, right?" I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I was led across the grounds. "Oh, and if you're wondering about the dog, since that's just like you folks to do, the wench hexed him and he vanished, probably transfigured into a bug or something. Thought you ought to know."

Snape turned angrily, a dark mark (not the Dark Mark, a dark mark) on his teeth that, by the scent, I identified as chocolate. So he had discovered the wonders known as M&Ms. "Listen here. You are a criminal being brought into custody – you're only right it to remain silent until the appropriate authorities are contacted." Ah, good old Snape. Always so abrasive. It had always been a wonder as to how Lily managed to cultivate a friendship with him, but then, anyone could get along with her.

"What about the right to a trial with an unbiased jury and representation?" I asked, though the look I received in return was rather blank. So, I continued ranting, remembering the only world I'd been to where the difference between the magical societies was not just and unjust, but merely who could utilize magic and who could not. Rare, that. "You know, due process and all that? Civil liberties? Honestly, wizards are the most backward race of people I've ever seen, especially in Britain. It is my right as a human being to have a formal trial by the governing body of the wronged society with unbiased jury who will see my case objectively. 'Course, I wasn't even subjected to Veritaserum when I was taken in the first time, just thrown to the dementors. Is it any wonder I would want out?"

More blank looks. I try and sound like an educated man who was wrong, and they still look at me like a criminal... mind, I was one. Escape from Azkaban, escape from prison, breaking the reasonable restriction for underage magic, aiding in the breaking of the reasonable restriction of underage magic... it was a long list that I don't particularly care to give just now, as this isn't even the truly fascinating part of the tale.

"All we know, sir, is that you were illegally in a restricted Ministry zone, illegally broke out of a high security prison, and were illegally present on the private property of Hogwarts," Dumbledore stated calmly, though his voice was cold. I rolled my eyes. "If you would be so kind as to give us your name, I might be able to sort out your business with the Ministry."

For a moment it seemed all too easy, so I piped out an old false name of mine: "Uric A. C. Robins". A Harry had come up with it while making up "Dark Lord names" as modeled after Voldemort's own. The A didn't actually stand for anything, but it was a simple name. While Dumbledore would contact the Ministry for any records of a Uric Robins, likely in the muggleborn files due to my uncouth comments about the legal system in magical Britain, I would make my escape and return under the guise of Snuffles. Another mystery unsolved.

It was under this assumption that I operated as I was escorted to Dumbledore's own office (Hagrid going straight to the Hospital and the other "guards" dismissed as the stairs began their twist). It was under this assumption that I sat calmly in a squashy purple armchair in the Headmaster's office while he used the floo for a moment.

However, I had not expected who he called through. Instead of calling a Ministry clerk who would spend a lot of time looking through files while Dumbledore left the supposedly-secure prisoner in his office, a tall man with black hair, gray eyes, and sharp features stepped through. The me of this world; the Sirius Black of the World of Searching. And what was worse was that he didn't seem the least bit concerned. True, the man was in charge of the search for myself and Bellatrix, but I really hadn't expected Dumbledore to bring him in first thing! But, maybe, he could make my escape easier. My mind was already whirring with a new plan when he spoke.

"Snuffles, I see you're a bit tied up," he nodded simply. "Headmaster, this is him. Perfectly safe, if insane. Was there anything else you wanted?"

Naturally, my jaw dropped. What was he talking about? And revealing my identity to Dumbledore – who could very well be a manipulative old bastard out to take over the world – was not part of the grand plan of helping Harry save the world! I scowled, but said nothing further.

"No, no," the concern was waved away as air by the old loon. "I just wanted to be sure. I'm afraid that while I was speaking with you in the floo, Lestrange had broken in and freed him, laying waste to the monitoring charms on my office at the same time. A pity. Luckily, the _bug_ that the Potter guard dog was transfigured into earlier when the two escapees were fighting over which of them could kill Harry – as mad killers are wont to do – fell off of her cloak and was un-transfigured. Yes, that sounds about right. I'm afraid I only saw them leave out the window, however, on some old cleansweeps."

Sirius just smirked, nodding. "This means a fair bit of paperwork of course, but now we have a name for our mysterious man. Uric Robins, an Australian muggleborn with grand schemes for the wizarding world. Quite sad how he fell in with Bellatrix in Azkaban, but that's just how things work. Thank you for the report Headmaster. Snuffles, give my best to the boys and Tonks."

When my double disappeared through the green flames, I could do little more than gape and wish very much for a stiff drink.

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, random little side note here – when I started the Bella section, I checked my reads. Chapter seven had 666 reads. Thought that was cool... And yeah, the sections are short. Boohoo. Um... onto important things, yes?

Next week I will be posting chapters 20 and 21 (to make up for the hiatus a couple weeks ago... and I'll be halfway done with the series before spring break! WooT!), the week after I may or may not post depending if I have the opportunity in Idaho, but if not I will do a double post again at some point. We'll see, won't we? Oh, and after this chapter, the Charlus, Everyone Else, Charlus patten is dropped for basically the rest of the story.

You didn't honestly think that everyone would be blindly loyal to a random Harry from another universe that possessed their Harry, did you? Sirius (Padfoot) decided that if no one else would do anything, he would. He wants his family to be safe, and decided that Dumbledore was the best guarantee for that. Add to that the moment in chapter 17 where he asked James what he though and James claimed he just wanted his son back – our favorite auror saw that as his permission to bring this to someone who could, in some way, help. He doesn't see Harry as his godson, just as he knows James doesn't see him as his son or Charlus sees his brother. Sirius wants to set things to rights.

Snuffles convinced everyone else not to tell Dumbles because he's come across a lot of Evil! Or Manipuulative!Dumbles in his adventures and wanted to get a measure of this one... but despite my love for Evil!Dumbles, I am not making this an Evil!Dumbles fic. Sorry if you thought I was going for that. He is manipulative, but in a normal-Dumbledore way, not "everyone is Pawn and I am King rawr."

As to the end bit, Dumbledore is curious about the worlds. If Snuffles were tossed before the Wizengamot (which Fudge, idiot that he is, wouldn't do – straight to the kiss!), he wouldn't get to interrogate him. Veritaserum goes down and "Name? Lord Sirius Orion Black" means chaos! Loony bin for him. Or, if they got beyond that? "Please state all crimes you are guilty of: Escape from prison – 42 counts, Aiding in the escape from prison..." etc etc. If the old geezer wants answers, he's going to make sure Snuffles is free enough to give them. However, this is Good!Dumbles, so he's nice. For Sirius, he recognizes Snuffles as good protection for Harry's body and Charlus, as well as a fount of knowledge in various fields. And, maybe, just maybe, he's a bit jealous and wants to prove himself above it.

In other news, I'm writing a random one-shot tomorrow – inspired by all those stupid dementor-Harry fics. I dunno, just felt it had to be done. It'll be called "First Kiss". Muha-freaking-ha. And I think the song in my quotation area is pretty self explanatory... I like Queen. Maybe for #4 I'll do David Bowie or the Cure? Ah well. Have a good week!


	21. Catching Up and the Cup

**Pre A/n: As of this chapter, the perspective switch is abolished. I write as whatever character is necessary for the chapter from now on.**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 20**

**Catching Up and the Cup**

**"I know of no more disagreeable sensation than to be left feeling generally angry without anybody in particular to be angry at."**

**Frank Moore Colby**

.Sirius Black.

I was justified, but my Other could not see that. Why? Why didn't he realize that I was right to do it? They were my _family_, my brothers and nephews in something more important than blood! Closer than Regulus ever had been before or dared to be now, James had been my best friend in school and I just wanted to protect him! What else could I do? Albus was the most powerful wizard since the 18th century, and yes, he did sometimes move people like chess pieces, but it was for the greater good, wasn't it?

For years, I had sacrificed my own safety for the greater good. Straight into school, I saw it was wrong the way that the Slytherins treated muggleborns. Instead of taking my place among them, I stood against the prejudiced snakes (though, admittedly, in my fervor I was too into it, and may have turned more onto the path I walked away from instead). Instead of living in comfort and safety in my own home, I went against what blood dictated I should do and did what I thought was right instead of what was easy, just as the Hogwarts Headmaster always taught. As a Gryffindor, I fought injustice while I was faced with it at home. After school, I joined the Order full time to fight Voldemort and Evil in general. After the war, I joined the aurors and put my life on the line everyday while one of my friends played Quidditch and the other taught classes at the Auror Academy.

Excuse me for caring more for the lives of those I love than that of a stranger. A stranger who, as it just so happened, had done something to my lycanthropic friend who was just as susceptible to the curse of knowledge (more so seeing as it was Remus) as any other man. If a full grown man cannot handle a problem and such temptation, they don't hand it off to a child! But he did, and then trusted that the child who had an unwavering faith in his godfather to allow a man who spent his life searching for various sources of knowledge to handle the problem and face the temptation that came up to his desire. It was madness, illogical!

But what was more; he encouraged breaking the law in various ways that I could not, would not, abide by, and that something so vital to the doubtless up-and-coming war be kept from the man who would lead our own side.

Snuffles had the gall to tell me that protecting my family was not right. He told me that I had _no right_ to disclose important information to the best chance at postponing a war. It was disgusting, horrendous, and hypocritical. Sure, he can tell his godson (who took over the body of mine with said boy's soul and mind being Merlin only knew _where_!) to tell several people who "weren't of consequence" about what was to happen, that neither of them were the genuine article, but when it came to crunch time, what was he doing? Shoving responsibility onto someone else.

Of course, I'd known that telling Albus would miff the petulant guard dog, I'd known it from the get-go. It was obvious with anyone who had met the "man" for more than five minutes that he wanted things to go his way and then damned anyone else who knew how to play the game he was on. So he went from being the genial guest, who just so happened to be trying to plan out the lives of every wizard in Great Britain for the next few years to suddenly ranting and raving at me for doing what was right. A man who claimed to want freedom only, that he couldn't understand why manipulations and politicking were so important to the Magical World, was doing all that.

Never mind that Albus and I thought up an alibi for him when he was found on the Grounds by dementors. We came up with a plausible story and identity (even if no sane person would actually name their child Uric) and he threw it back in my face because I _dared_ to spurn his advice. While he was concerned with little more than making sure _his_ godson survived a war that hadn't even started and wouldn't for a year, I was worried for my best friend in a coma, my other friend who was depressed due to his wife vanishing off the face of the earth, and the only real Potter son still about who had been possessed for a year. I was a _fool_ for looking at the little things, I guess. After all, without knowing every tiny detail of everything that happened in _his_ world, I couldn't possibly know what was good for mine.

There it was, the key to the argument. _His_ and _Mine_._He_ had _his_ godson's soul and mind in _my_ godson's body, a little diary that had items stored in its pages, and a random assortment of trivia knowledge. _I_ had a family, friends, and a closer-than-blood nephew to take care of. While I had a life, he had a story. Where I had a family, he had a joke. That was the difference between him and I. I grew up. He never did.

Summer vacation brought these arguments to light. Why did I tell? It was the right thing to do. Why did I make him out as a criminal? As if a trial would give him a clean slate! And anything he _did_ reveal would then be Albus', the Ministry's, and _Voldemort's_ hands, not just that of one man with a sense of right and wrong, but the government, the lords and ladies of magical Britain, and likely anyone who had ever picked up a newspaper in their entire life. Then where was his plan? In the trash of course.

With a sigh, I slumped against a chair in my parlor, watching as Tyler (only just a year old now) played with some Alpha-blocks in his playpen. Cynthia was in the kitchen making a bottle for him and tea for us. I had been visiting Remus at the Hogwarts infirmary all night, as it had been the full moon. He hadn't transformed again. Was it normal for a werewolf to stay human if they were in a coma? Who knew?

Cynthia entered the parlor with a tea tray floating ahead. The bottle was given to our son (such a cute boy – he had his mother's hair, my eyes, and the button nose of every small child… except maybe Snape, who had to have been born with a hook on his face, surely) and I grabbed a cup of mint tea. I needed to relax after getting the third degree from that _dog_ this morning, and there was no better way to do so than to sit in a comfy chair in a pleasant room with my family around me and a cup of tea. It was the ideal way to relax and try to forget about what my Other decided to do in his effort to blow everyone up.

"I did the right thing in telling Albus, didn't I?" I asked my wife suddenly. My hand hovered halfway between my mouth and lap, tilted back but not really thinking of drinking it. I was too preoccupied at this point, and I had been before. Cynthia would have to agree with me, wouldn't she? Not out of some sort of spousal obligation, but because I _had_ been right. It's all well and good to have a little vigilante group handling things on the side, but when it came to Voldemort, the vigilantes were the Order. We didn't need two groups of anti-Voldemort activists with the Ministry because that was what took away the support in the government that was necessary in these things. Having more than two guerrilla groups fighting under the Ministry (that was all he Death Eaters and Order could be considered really) was demoralizing. Without support, the Ministry was ineffective.

"Of course, Siri," Cynthia reached a hand from her own chair to squeeze my lax-hand in reassurance. "Albus will know what to do now that he knows. And, if we're lucky, the aurors will find that retched cousin of yours and overestimate her because you told them she has an accomplice. It's much better this way, Dear. Everything will work out, I'm sure." Small fingers ran over my palm before lifting up the hand and planting a kiss dead center. "You'll see."

Just as my limb was released, the fireplace flared green. As the emerald flames licked at the bricks, the head of Poppy Pomfrey sprouted into being a foot up, magnified to twice normal size. Her face was awash in a ruddy glow, graying hair in disarray as she smiled brilliantly out of the grate. There was only thing, or, rather, person, I knew of that would cause her to contact the Black family in the summer, especially with such a pleased look. Before I could stop myself, I was standing with a grin planted firmly on my face.

"He's woken up! I think you had better come along, Mr. Black, he wants to see everyone," Poppy said happily before retreating.

I was in the fire with a cloak about my shoulders before Cynthia had even stood. Tea forgotten with a shattered cup on the floor and a new stain, she never even got to do her regular routine of looking at my tea leaves. It didn't matter though, because Remus was awake and obviously wasn't mad from having repressed the werewolf. Things were looking up!

* * *

.Harry Potter.

I was mad, and with good reason I should think. Except I wasn't quite sure who to be mad at to begin with. Sure, Sirius told Dumbledore what had happened to me, but wasn't it my decision to tell? Then again, I was concerned as to my own reasoning for _not_ telling the Headmaster; I had none. No reason that made any sense popped into my head when I tried to defend not telling. The best I could come up with was that he had never told me about his shady past with Grindelwald and his sister... but it didn't make any sense, really. For one thing, he never told anyone, just as I never told anyone about the whole truth of my treatment at the Dursleys (I wasn't physically abused beyond small things like a cuff around the head, mind, nor did I ever deny the obvious neglect, but I didn't mention Harry Hunting to anyone either). Everyone had secrets, so what reasoning I had was hypocritical.

As I had been told many times, Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in a long time, a master manipulator and great for future planning. He had even planned out the war with Voldemort beyond his own death! Easily beating my own lack of strategic thinking, I had no reason not to tell him and every reason to do just that.

So why was I mad? Who knows. I didn't have a clue who to be mad at or precisely why because what had happened just made sense, yet I couldn't help it. Without anyone or anything to be mad at, my mind was mostly just muddled.

Thankfully, Remus woke up though. Just when I was starting to go into a rather unfortunate spiral, Madame Pomfrey had popped into the fireplace, interrupting a conversation between Charlus and Neville that had been going on at the time (making plans to meet up at the Quidditch Cup pre-festivities the next day, I think) to inform us of Remus' health. To say that the house shook with Charlus happy cries would be an understatement. According to Dad, the Manor often resonated with the emotions of any Potter male if they were feeling strong enough.

The Hogwarts Infirmary was as blindingly white as it had been two months prior, with the exception that Tonks' previously bland brown was now an exotic mix of pink and green spikes with a red fringe as she lay in her own Hospital bed. (Refusing to leave her husband's side through her second childbirth three weeks prior meant she was taking refuge in the Infirmary with toddling Emmalie and newborn Teddy alongside her.) I had been shocked to see a completely coherent Remus just sitting on his wife's bed as if _she_ were the invalid and not him. That he looked completely healthy rather than gaunt and troubled like he had for moths before, even discounting that the wolf ought to be wild with a moon-rage being discounted from that state.

"Uncle Moony!" Charlus had shouted happily... I don't think I'd _ever_ seen him that happy about anything in the almost-three years that I'd known him, but I understood quite well what he was going through. His godfather, whom he was obviously very close to, had been unreachable and near-dead for months, and he'd caused it. The guilt would, naturally, be overwhelming. Despite his stupidity about the diadem thing, I was happy for him. Yeah, he made a mistake, but at least it wasn't fatal – he didn't have to cause any deaths, not like I always did. As he clutched happily to his godfather, something seemed to stab at me... maybe it was jealousy. Was I jealous that he liked Remus, but not me? Probably.

"Glad to have you back, Wolf-man," my father murmured in a strangled voice as he too approached the bed that the ever-wise werewolf was currently seated upon. There was this sort of _look_ about him that I couldn't quite describe until the tears came. He was happy enough to cry... the last time that happened for me was when it truly sunk in that Voldemort was gone. A smile lit my face. This wasn't the wariness of the school year or distrust and spiteful banter I recalled from the recent years. They were close-knit, just like any family ought to be, a dream to me.

The problem was that I was not part of that, and without their Harry, it would unravel, wouldn't it? Their Sirius was already stalking across the floor with a wide grin on is face which had been halfway absent since he had been taking care of Dad in Mum's and my stead. With a pinched smile, I simply pet my Sirius' pelt before he transformed back into himself (if Dumbledore hadn't insisted that Madame Pomfrey look him over for any dementor effects, I would have been surprised he dared, but he did and I wasn't). Somehow, Snuffles still fit, as the family dog-man, while I didn't, even after being a member of the family for so long. It hurt, but I got over it.

"I'm happy you're okay, Prof –" I cut myself off, realizing I was falling into the old habit again, and quickly amended myself, "Remus." This was all I could say, really. What could I say? Everyone was just sort of reveling in the knowledge that Remus was alive, alright, and not about to go berserker on them with wolf-rage.

After some ten minutes of idle chatter and a lot of hugs going around, Dumbledore brought up the important things. Not the simple "I'm glad you're okay" or anything like that, but what really mattered.

"Remus, it is truly a wonder to see you up and about once more," the elderly man proclaimed happily. "However, I'm sure that the rest of the room, like myself, are curious as to what, exactly, you can tell us about what has happened. I'm afraid what I do know is rather incomplete, you see." His eyes flicked towards Sirius and my Sirius, who were sitting on the same bed, in much the same position (luckily the years in Azkaban and those he had on this world's Sirius had made them easily distinguishable). Obviously, Remus noticed that the old dog had turned into a man, surmising the obvious "somebody spilled the beans to the old bumblebee".

He nodded serenely and, newborn son cradled in his arms, proceeded to say what happened in surprisingly plain terms. "The diadem horcrux used knowledge to pique the curiosity of others and force them to touch it. Being the last of them made to date, it was least stable, magically, so it could lash out onto a person's soul without any real connection. When offered, I decided to do my part in this effort and picked it up and dropped it in the basin of venom. Unfortunately, I _was_ tempted by it, so I touched it directly.

"In the three seconds that I had it in my physical grasp, the horcrux started downloading the deductions and logic responses it managed to muster. After spending forty years with nothing to with itself but think, it had a lot of things it could share. Three seconds to download forty years of constant thought... well, it's no wonder that I was in a coma, was it?" A nervous hand ran through his hair before returning to be grasped by young Teddy (he looked just like _my_ Teddy...), a worn out smile crossing his face. Same old Remus then. "I've basically been sorting through everything, rejecting most of it. There was a lot of dark thoughts, but a few came in handy."

A pensive silence from Dumbledore before he nodded solemnly. I didn't really get it, but it kind of made sense. Where the diary, something used to remember, had showed memories of the past and my scar gave me visions of the present, the diadem was an object of thought, wasn't it? So it would impart knowledge to steal a soul... or something along those lines. It was _really_ confusing.

"And what did you learn?" The voice was filled with trepidation, and I was surprised it came from my godfather. Why would he be so anxious about that? This was _Sirius_ after all, and he wasn't exactly the sort to go run off to the library and study.

"Like I said, a lot of good and bad," Remus shook his head furiously for a moment, as if to clear it, before continuing. "Mostly random things. The best way to skin a man alive and have him stay conscious through it, for one. Another is verification on that animagus-theory Snuffles brought up..." It was pretty clear that he had something to say that he wasn't sure how... I mean, yeah, I'm not exactly the smartest guy at Hogwarts, but I'm not that dense. "Thing is, it hit Moony too. It's... different now."

The most energetic silence I could ever recall followed for all of five seconds while the information was processed. Then there was an explosion of happy cries and wary explanations. As far as I could figure from the relatively disjointed explanation he gave (rather a hard thing to explain without forethought, I have found), the Wolf (or Moony) was hit with the information as well, and while Remus' conscious mind was sorting out the main download, the wolf mind was searching through information for him to file to help them both. Since I'd always assumed the Wolf cared only for blood at all times, not just around the full moon, it confused the Hell out of me.

Eventually it was _properly_ explained by someone who understood that, no, the wolf didn't literally search through, but rather while dealing with information on its own, found something that had to do with werewolves in general and felt the Man in it ought to know. That knowledge was a form of theoretical coexistence between Man and Wolf that many wild werewolves were more likely to achieve, and horridly simple. All Remus had to do was increase his intake of red meats, the rarer the better, and learn work to achieve more than just his rabbit-form on the animagus front, eventually reaching the werewolf form. Assuming he could, I mean. Although that made me really think about becoming an animagus. With the right books and Sirius' help, I could probably have the transformation done by the Third Task of the Tournament this year.

Everyone left that night with a feeling of general happiness, ready for the Quidditch World Cup the next day.

* * *

.Charlus Potter.

I grinned widely, nearly splitting my face with the effort. An Irish win had come from nowhere when Krum's broom was plowed from behind by a bludger aimed at a chaser nearby. Having finally won a bet against Harry (he claimed Krum would get the snitch, but Ireland would win), I was just as happy as anyone else at the shamrock-covered Ireland camp, and was dancing with Neville and Seamus Finnagan (a Gryffindor who Neville would partner up with in some classes) around a swaying green fire. With a warm bottle of butterbeer to sip at a piece, we were all just having a good time. Remus, having joined in on the plans last minute, was enjoying a firewhiskey with Dad and Sirius.

Then there was a rather loud _boom_ from the north end of the camp. Normally that wouldn't be so noticeable, what with the fireworks, flutes, and drunken river dance (impromptu of course) that was prevalent in the Irish camp. It was the screams and spell fire that really got to everyone. Before I could even look at what was going on, Harry had grabbed my arm, I grabbed Neville's, and we were being dragged away from the screams with Snuffles pushing from behind. Several steps in, I managed to turn around enough and paled. A small army of men in black robes and white masks were marching forward, levitating the muggle camp-keeper's family. Easily as drunk as the Irishmen, it was likely to be an even fight... but I could already see the logic in Harry's move. We had to get away! We were only fourteen, and even though Harry had the basic knowledge of a fresh auror, he couldn't duel an adult effectively either.

Rushing through the camp, we were shouting for everyone we passed to get out of the way, alerting them to the Death Eaters' approach. Honestly, I was sort of running on adrenaline and fear by that point, desperate to get away. Who wouldn't be? Any sane person would feel the same way, wouldn't they?

Regardless, we managed to get into the forest just behind the younger Weasleys and Hermione (who was bunking with Ginny since there weren't any girls in the party she'd actually come with) while the elders in the group were rushing to the chaos. The woods were filled with others hiding from the Death Eaters, some who really ought to be out helping and others who needed protecting. Snuffles had managed to round Harry, Neville, and I with Hermione and the Weasleys, and paced at our sides as we hurried further in, finally stopping in a vacant glade that he seemed to deem safe. I collapsed with a sigh.

Shouldn't we have remembered this? Harry had mentioned at least once what was likely to happen after the Cup finished, and we hadn't really thought of it. All this had brought in his universe was a small panic and the first public release of Barty Crouch, Jr. Problem was, Harry refused to let anyone, not even Dumbledore, know about the Moody-Crouch swap, claiming that "if Dumbledore stopped him, then I can't enter the Tournament and then who knows what Voldemort will do to get a new body?" I think he just wanted to fight dragons for _fun_ and _glory_.

"This is it..." Harry murmured in my ear. I turned to glare at him; bringing the Weasleys and _my friends_ into his misadventures! I scowled, but didn't mention anything as my eyes locked onto the form of a scurrying house elf crossing the path. Her name, if I recalled properly, was Winky, the Crouch family elf.

"Oh, bollocks!" Neville swore suddenly, earning a combined swat on the arm from Hermione and Ginny, not to mention a chuckle from Fred and George. "Any of you lot take my wand? I can't find it! I know I brought it to the cup with me... I had it for the game, I know I did!" He was getting a bit panicked, digging on his pockets while the rest of us looked on confused.

"Sorry mate," Fred (or was it George? I could never tell) said. "If we'd taken it –"

"We would give it back when all this," the other twin waved his hands dramatically, "started up."

With a hefty sigh, Neville slumped. "I figured as much. I hope it turns up after everything is over. That's the only wand in all of Ollivander's that works for me. Mum'll flip if she finds out." Plunking himself down on the ground, Neville looked defeated.

Unfortunately, that was when the real fun of Harry's evening started, just as everyone slumped to the ground for a lay-about, a loud, clear voice from near a rather imposing oak incanted something that Harry had told me to keep an ear out for. "MORSMORDRE!" the voice, undoubtedly that of Barty Crouch, shouted into the stillness of our clearing. A jet of death green light sot diagonally into the air above us, halting its trajectory at thirty feet and slowly rising over the treetops while green smoke formed into the Dark Mark.

Shuddering, I huddled in my place. This was not going to be a fun year, I was sure.

* * *

Author's Note: I was actually really busy this week, but I'm proud to say I got this done... and to note that the story is, officially, half way to completion! Yes, that's right, 50 of the story is NOW COMPLETE! That makes me very happy, and also very nervous. Over 90 thousand words total? Do you realize how insane that is? Well, it is for me. The most I've written on a single story, before now, can't've been more than 50, if that, and here I am with 21 chapter and over 90 thousand words... I dunno. I feel... accomplished. As to why I was busy, well, there was a Peace March on Saturday in the city near where I live, and I was right up front. Stayed there all day and didn't get home until, like, six. Also, I had a Chemistry project to write up, and a couple of big tests... yeah. Busy.

Ahem... onto the important stuff I guess? I decided that something good had to come from Remus' episode with the diadem... and don't count on things being as similar to canon as they have been. This story is about to receive a wake-up call of sorts.

Regarding Sirius' rant... he had to get that out. I mean, this Sirius is more uptight because he grew up (he's right on that count) and I felt he had to get it out. So did he, for that matter. Please note that everything he had up was a completely rational argument, looking at it from his perspective. 


	22. He's an Animal

**Pre A/n: I double posted this week – please read chapter 20 first!**

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 21**

**He's an Animal**

**"Man is a rational animal who always loses his temper when he is called upon to act in accordance with the dictates of reason."**

**Oscar Wilde**

.Bartemius Crouch, Jr.

A soft feeling played through my mind, as if a violin were resting inside my head... or do I mean that there was a soft music, like a pillow by my ear? Perhaps both, but the feeling was that of a minor bliss. Contentment rolled through me, not caring for whatever angers I may have roiling about, nor what had been done to me. It was just calm, quiet... peaceful.

However, I had never been a fan of calm, quiet, _or_ peace. This, I believe, was because of my father. He was the sort of man who could sit in a corduroy-upholstered chair, a glass of brandy in one hand, while listening to Beethoven and playing conductor off beat. The concertos he would have our house elf play for him, the damnable violins, pianos, oboes, flutes, everything! It was a damned cacophony to my ears, as I was unsuited to his _cozy_ lifestyle. I wanted more out of life.

So while Mother and Father would sit at home listening to Mozart, Beethoven, and any number of other classical composers, I went to_real_ concerts for music that made my heart race. The first I discovered was a muggle band called "The Clash". A muggle girl, Hufflepuff if I recall, had rigged her Wizarding Wireless to get muggle stations, and while my housemates scowled at the hard tones of muggle music, I reveled in it. The low thrumming of an eclectic guitar (I later learned the phrase was _electric_, but I don't really care), the beating of large drums, and the harsh sound of electric pianos... it was so _different_ from what my parents cared for.

Maybe I had been in the throes of teenage rebellion, doing what I did. It could be that I was just a teenager tainted by the wiles of Rock 'n Roll, as my parents claimed. Whatever it was, I liked it, and grew more enchanted with everything my parents _weren't_ as the hard music spread to wizarding culture in the form of the teen bands _Pink Horklump_,_Ebony and the Grims_ and _The Wands_. They glorified things like sex, drugs... all things offered freely by Voldemort's men. For me, the Death Eaters started out as just another step of teenaged rebellion. It soon became something a lot more.

Obsession... yes, that was what it was. I was _obsessed_ with the Dark Lord, with his anti-muggle values that my muggle-loving parents could _never_ understand. It was this obsession that got me through those times of calm, quiet, and peace.

Sometimes I only had to wait a few minutes before the true music broke this cloud of serenity in my brain, other times my father was too strong to overcome. The further away he was, the easier it was to break his hold, and the Quidditch Cup had been such an incident twice over. At the actual cup I stole a wand, and at the after party I used it, showing loyalty. Loyalty that, just as the peace rolled into place, before my father was the leave for work a week after the Cup, brought a thunderclap into his house.

My father whirled around, and even though I'd only been under for a few seconds, the harsh noise caught my attention, breaking me from the dulcet tones of my father's mental violins. I blinked widely under the invisibility cloak he always placed my under, noting that it was wearing thin at the sleeves. A grin split my face when I saw that he was walking to the door, not noticing my presence. I didn't have a wand any longer, Winky having taken it from me, but I could still fight, sickly thin as I was. Stalking my father silently as my bare feet padded along behind his rhythmic steps, rubber smacking hard cherry wood floors, we reached the entry hall quickly. He was none the wiser.

The tall, stately door was pulled open and father didn't even have time to say "Hello" before a curse struck; a very distinctive lemon yellow curse that dug straight to his forehead and just so happened to have the singular incantation of "Imperio!" This was a curse that was applied to me at least once per day for the past twelve years of my life, as it just so happened.

The figure casting the spell was another matter all together. Easily surpassing one-hundred and ninety centimeters, she was an Amazon. Dark tresses fell down her shoulders and back in an unruly mane, the dark curls accentuating her pale complexion. A heavy set brow overshadowed deep set eyes of the dark blue just as any true person of her lineage was wont to have. She was a Black through and through, my partner in the crime that finally put me in Azkaban all those years ago; Bellatrix Lestrange, the third Azkaban escapee. It was the wand she carried that really caught my attention though; a pale yew wand with an ivory handle, fourteen inches and delicately carved. The wand of the Dark Lord.

"Barty Crouch! Come to the foyer at once!" Bellatrix cried in a shrill voice that, when she was at torture, was obscured by a mocking baby voice. So she was serious today. I waited a minute, unsure as to what I ought to do, until she looked down at the dark bundle in her arms. "Master, he is not coming, yet. Should I scour the Manor for him? It is likely that the politician spirited him away to a dungeon now that the house elf is done away with." Master? The Dark Lord was here? Here, in my father's house? The bundle moved, and I stepped forward, soft steps no longer overshadowed by the loud clap of my father's shoes.

"He is here, Bellatrix," the voice was high for a man's, yet quiet and hoarse. Somehow, that voice still carried the complete aura of darkness and power that it had thirteen years ago. "You who are among my most faithful would to well to reveal yourself. Crouch! Show yourself to me! Your father is now my puppet, and your strings are cut." A thing the size of an early-born infant, pale as moonlight and flat of face, dug its way out of the black cloth, red eyes catching my gaze and holding it immediately. This was my Lord!

Whipping the invisibility cloak from my shoulders I stared in awe. He lived... my Lord lived! I hurried to kneel before him, kissing the hem of the black cloth he was swaddled in. Barely daring to allow myself to believe it, I thought perhaps I saw approval in his bloody gaze, but again, such things were given only to his preferred, such as Bellatrix or Lucius, not I, and so I didn't dare to even think it.

"My Lord! My Lord, I am so glad to see you are alive," I whispered, voice even hoarser than his own voice had been, due to a lack of use. The only word I had spoken in three years had been a week ago to spout the incantation for my Lord's Mark where none of my fellows dared to show that loyalty, and the effort had left my throat more ragged that before. Without Winky to nurse me, it had been hard. 

"Hello, Crouch," Voldemort hissed, his voice low and slightly sibilant. "It has been many years... and you were one of the few who searched for me, were you not?" A small hand with long fingers reached out from the bundle and caressed my cheek. "Yes, Bellatrix, yourself, and the Lestrange twins were the only people to search me out when all others thought I was defeated by an infant. Only you four had enough faith in your Lord to know that I was not to be killed by a babe barely into walking, weren't you? The betrayal of your fellows saddens me, but already I have a task for you."

"Yes Master, anything You desire!" I whispered, ignoring the rawness of my throat as I bowed to him further, the small hand taking leave of my face. To be counted as loyal as the likes of Bellatrix, his left hand! Such an honor. "Anything."

"Exactly as I expected from one of my _most loyal_..."

* * *

.Charlus Potter.

"You have to understand!"

Those were the words told to me in every lesson for the animagus course that Snuffles was now giving to Harry, Remus, and myself. I had had to reveal Faux Paw, in all my furry glory, to the family and Dumbledore when Snuffles decided that yes, he would teach Remus to attain the second, third, and fourth forms, as he was planning on helping someone else with that very thing the coming term. Of course, when everyone asked who, he had informed them in a terribly matter-of-fact manner that _I_ was the one. Five minutes later, I had showed off my foxy form and Harry was put into the extra lesson as well, and given the combined notes of myself and Dad to study before he could really do anything. At this point, he really only came to the bi-weekly meetings because he had questions to ask Snuffles about some of the theory (I had had Tom for that of course) while his dogfather tried to help Remus and I understand our fathers.

Understanding the paternal unit was step two in attainting the paternal animagus form, the first being _becoming_ a regular animagus to begin with. I had to come to completely understand my father in every facet of his life, no easy task. Sure, I understood him in a lot of things, like why he had gone to the bottle when Mum left. He wanted to dull the pain that was associated with the loss of a loved one and found alcohol to be a good remedy, just like I had taken to hiding and finally to Tom and occlumancy to bury everything. But I had to understand _everything_; why he picked Mum, why he liked Chasing over Keeping, and what about his personality truly made him a stag.

I shuddered to think about how my attempt to gain the maternal form would go. (Mum not having ever bothered to become an animagus due to her lackluster abilities at transfigurations wouldn't help me, either.)

On the bright side, Snuffles had finally shared what his forms were. Aside from being a dig identical to a Grim, he had the maternal form of a peregrine falcon (sink or swim, and feed them when they're hungry were things that fit Walpurga Black's personality to a T, he had claimed), the paternal of a red wolf (bring home the bacon and take whatever girl he wanted, despite his "primary mate's" protest), and his magical protector was an abraxan, which also happened to be his patronus. The latter was due to him associating both freedom (flight) and strength as safety, and abraxans were large, strong horses with wings... it almost made sense, I guess.

It was about a month into the school year, and while Remus and I worked to understand our respective fathers, Harry was decreed "knowledgeable enough to find his form". For the first time ever, something with Harry was normal. He didn't have a magical normal form or a horrible monster or anything.

"I'm an eagle!" He cried happily, jolting me from my work. He'd been working at meditation for only ten minutes. Ten minutes! Of course, he was a Master Occlumens, but it was hardly fair. I compiled my own notes (after reading Riddle's) and did everything my myself, but I had to sit around for two hours before I could meditate properly, yet Harry only had to do one after stealing notes from Dad and I, as well as goofing off a lot more than I did. It really didn't seem terribly fair to me at all.

"Good on you, Pronglet," Snuffles said happily, wrapping an arm around my unbrother's shoulder. "Now you have to spend at least about two weeks researching exactly what kind of eagle you are!" Harry was now onto stage three of the initial animagus process – know thyself. The paling of his face told me plenty; he didn't want to research the physicality of eagles, nor the symbolism behind them. His hatred of all this paper with inked words showed itself once more. "That's it for tonight, you two. I would suggest occlumancy tonight before your learn the trials of Oedipus."

While I didn't catch the reference (I never would, but I was informed it wasn't anything good), Remus did. A pillow was conjured by the Room of Requirement to be thrown at Snuffles, but he had already turned into a hawk and dodged the fluffy projectile. My godfather left in a huff through the passage to the Hog's Head while Harry and went our separate ways to our common rooms.

Just as I was reaching the third floor (five more to go until I reached the level my rooms were on, unfortunately), a hand caught me. As it was my left arm that was caught, I only really noticed because a small release of magic into my flesh-and-blood arm told me that there was a pull being applied and, well gee, I wasn't the one pulling so the arm wouldn't be removed. Turning, I saw that Professor Moody (Barty Crouch, Jr. as I had been told) had a grip on my wrist, electric-blue eye scanning me thoughtfully.

"Er... hello Professor Moody," I blinked owlishly. What was he doing? I asked, of course, but the darker eye pierced me with its gaze.

"The levels in your arm are too low," he commented lightly, "and the balance from your elbow is off." Again, I only blinked in response. "It means you either have more spells on the blasted thing than you're meant to, or else you've grown a foot since your last adjustment. You sure none of those snakes have hexed it, Potter?"

I was always terribly guarded around the man in auror's clothing. After all, he was a Death Eater with a magical eye, capable of letting Voldemort know whatever he wanted about the magic levels of anyone at Hogwarts and the warding schemes, if it were asked of him. Not only that, but he'd held everyone in the school over 13 in an Imperius curse, and only two people had resisted at all: Harry and the likely-next Slytherin Quidditch captain, Montague. That feeling of being out of control, completely open to suggestion... I hadn't liked it. That was something my occlumancy and excessive knowledge couldn't help me with. I feared him like no other.

"I'm sure, sir," I said quickly. "My housemates have accepted me as having Slytherin traits despite my lineage, and allying myself with the 'neutral' sect has allowed me some measure of security, even among the upper years. Any magical imbalance is probably due to the surplus of nargles – I mean _chizpurfles_, sorry – around the castle. They like my arm a lot, and I've no doubt they've taken no less of a fancy to your eye." There was no way I could give him the information that I, like my father, had become an illegal animagus. It was best to distract him. As if I hadn't noticed that the creatures flocked to him in general to feed on the magic of Polyjuice potion! No, I played the Potter, and was rewarded.

"Aye, I've noticed," the scarred face scowled while he nodded. "Horrible blighters, they mess around with my dark detectors almost as much as a Death Eater would. Not a nice way to be. Well, you'd best scurry along to bed. I expect you need the rest for tomorrow – I hear your Choir class is starting work on some _real_ Sonomancy this year." I grimaced, nodding. If I'd thought that classes like Charms were draining (I had spent every spare moment trying to get the summoning charm down; I looked forward to dropping the course after next year), Choir had achieved a new level of tiredness. Manipulating magic through singing was _exhausting_.

"Yes sir, Professor Moody, sir," I gave a salute that was half serious (and learned from Sirius), and half mocking, though he wouldn't catch that side. He didn't, after all, realize just how I felt about him, or that I knew about him at all. "I'll see you in class on Thursday, I suppose." Waving slightly, I jogged off. I wouldn't realize until later that he had caught me past curfew without enacting any punishment.

* * *

.Hermione Granger.

Sighing, I turned around and ran off after the "small" Blast-Ended Skrewt I had been assigned to "walk" during the class period of Care of Magical Creatures. This was one of the many classes I shared with Hannah, and we had to collect our skrewt together, but that thing could really move quickly when it wanted! Having determined it to be female (the lack of stinger was, apparently, the deciding factor in this), we had hoped she might be a bit more compliant and the males, which liked to leap at their care-givers and set them aflame, but no luck thus far. Instead of being violent, our skrewt was horrible skittish. I only hoped that the dratted things would be useful for something, like that the stingers would be useful in wand creature or the blood in potions. _Anything_ just to make the months of my fourth year wasted with them.

"Hagrid!" Hannah cried suddenly. Refocusing, I was terrified to find that our skrewt (henceforth known as Bertha, as Hagrid had _insisted_ they be given names) was entering the Forbidden Forest. I'd never been in, and saw no reason to go in even now. Hopefully Bertha would be retrieved before she burnt down the entire forest, but if not... well, there would certainly be a bit of a makeover on the Hogwarts campus, wouldn't there?

"I'll get 'er!" Hagrid called calmly in his Cockney accent (which, even for Cockney, was rather butchering of the English language). "Everybody get ther' Skrewts back ter the crates! Class dismissed! 'Ermione, 'Annah, you two come back after lunch tomorrow ter check in with 'er, alrigh'? She'll be back by then, and yeh can make up fer lost time. 'M'afraid Bertha's a bit ova scaredy ca'."

"Alright Hagrid," I acquiesced with a sigh. He had his heart in the right place, but Hagrid really was too optimistic about the creatures he had us study. At least he wasn't daft enough to introduce any classes below seventh year to Norberta at the Dragon Reserve, or there might be a revolt. The fact that he didn't spoke volumes, or at least meant that Dumbledore had said "no" to that particular idea. Retreating quickly to the castle, Hannah and I met Luna and Ginny Weasley as they exited the Greenhouses, arguing about whether or not Snuffles was really a human. Of course he wasn't! Why Luna's father printed garbage like the Quibbler I would never know.

"Oh, hi Granger, Abbott," Ginny greeted before leaving the blonde, and us, to be with her year-mates and discuss Merlin only knew what. The girl was a bit odd, always fawning over Harry like a fangirl even though she had known him personally for years, and occasionally tried to get into Charlus or Harry's social circles, but mostly sticking to staring at the child celebrity in awe. So weird.

"What do you think of the Tournament?" Hannah asked as we approached the Great Hall. I waved idly to Charlus as we passed his table (he had a free period before lunch), but paid attention to Hannah regardless.

"I think it's dangerous, stupid, and I'm very glad that Dumbledore has put an age limit on entry," I snorted. "Can you imagine if he didn't? Potter might enter, and then what? He gets killed first task, or perhaps isn't chosen and throws a fit. Before you know it, the world is in chaos because the precious Boy-Who-Lived has problems with being normal for once. I mean, he isn't so bad _sometimes_, but otherwise he's a total berk, and I just can't stand his antics. If he tried to enter, there wouldn't be anything good coming of it, I assure you!"

"Of course not Hermione," Luna nodded right along, small radish earrings bobbing up and down alongside. "If he entered, the Dark Lord would come back, he'd be a Pariah, and Sirius Black would be killed by a curtain!"

A moment of silence.

Hannah and I burst into laughter. If nothing else, Luna was good for a laugh. Honestly, a top auror killed by a curtain! It was ridiculous.

* * *

Author's Note: WooT! I wrote most of this Thursday evening actually... er... yeah. Sorry. No update next week, might be late the week after while I catch up with my inter-webbing too, as I will be in Idaho and have next to no computer time, which is likely saved for e-mail and trying to get my brother's to listen to good music. Probably a lost cause, but oh well. Lot's of knitting and pre-writing will get done... I hope.

Ahem! Anyway, yes, Chaz revealed that he is an animagus, no I'm not explaining precisely what the theory behind Remus' lycanthropy cure is, and no, Chaz won't be getting the paternal form for a while. I think I'll tell you all their forms though, just because I'm bored... and it's Thursday. Charlus has a red fox, a stag, a turtle, and an occamy (15 foot long winged serpent with legs that lives in India). Harry's forms are a golden eagle, stag, turtle, and a demiguise (the fur of this creature being that which an invisibility cloak is made of – Harry associates safety with being invisible). Snuffles does have more of a purpose than just teaching people the animagus transformations though, just so ya know.

Muhaha! With half of the torture-the-Longbottoms crew (even if they aren't here – in the Good-verse they attacked the Boneses, or what remained of them) – out and about, mayhem shall be reeked. As to the thing about Barty Crouch and Rock n' Roll... It made sense I guess. I mean, it hit the magical community twenty-ish years late, per usual, and all teenagers rebel in some way. Barty Jr. just decided that he liked Rock instead of Classical, Guitar rather than piano, Hendrix instead of Mozart, and it escalated into hating muggles and joining Voldemort (to spite his parents at first, though he soon became enthralled). It made sense in my head...

See you in a couple weeks! Wish me luck among the potato people!


	23. We Are the Champions

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 22**

**We Are the Champions**

**"Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must first set yourself on fire."**

**Fred Shero**

.Viktor Krum.

Why was I on that damned ship to begin with? I wanted to be at Durmstrang; I wanted to fly! But this? This was the opposite of flight, sitting on a stiff chair underwater while my fellow students bustled about to make the ship run smoothly. The Tournament. I did _not_ want to be in it. The Triwizard Tournament advertised eternal glory (which, as the top seeker in the world, I already had). Never mind that I would be missing my second season on the International Quidditch bracket, my egotistical Headmaster wanted to show me off like a prized pony. We already knew that Dumbledore would have his own pet, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Madame Maxime would almost definitely have a half-breed, likely of veela heritage. One star seeker would not make the Durmstrang Academy's reputation any cleaner.

"Cliff off the port bow!" Shouted one of my year mates, Mathias Poliakoff. The ship lurched dangerously, sending the Headmaster's wine glass skittering across the deck, and wine into the churning waters above. No one could get on Headmaster Karkaroff's nerves like the half-blood top-of-class.

"Poliakoff!" He shouted angrily, upsetting the chair that had been spelled tip-proof. "Vhat do you think you are doing?!" For a Russian man, the Headmaster had very good English, even without his translation amulet on. It was likely a pre-requisite for joining the Cannibal Army (I believe the English call them Eaters of Death?). "You simpleton! Can you do nothing right?" Of course, Karkaroff did not mention that Poliakoff received straight O's and was the reigning All-School dueling champion for three years.

Unfortunately, my nose decided to plan a mutiny at that moment as the pungent scent of a particularly vicious goblin wine touched home. A relatively small sneeze left me at that exact moment of what should have been the peek of his anger. Instead, it only escalated higher.

"You reckless boy, you have given Viktor your cold! Had your father not _insisted_ that I allow you to come!"

No one actually knew who Poliakoff's father was outside of the Headmaster and Poliakoff himself, only that he was a pureblooded man, likely one of the Hungarian Barons, and had been unable to take his father's name due to his mother's status as a squib-born witch. The father spared no expense for his son, however, nor threat. Although I was a pureblood, I could certainly sympathize some with Poliakoff.

"Viktor, I am ashamed that such filth be allowed to attend vith you," Karkaroff sighed theatrically. "I vill make sure that the Hogwarts Matron brings for you a Pepper-up Potion, yes? I know the Potions Master personally, so there are no vorries. You vill be cured like that!" He snapped his fingers in a long downward motion.

I narrowed my eyes slightly. Morgana's Mercy! He truly didn't know when to shut up, did he? "I am fine, Headmaster," I assured him. No way in Hell would I tell him of my allergy to the highly metallic goblin wines, lest he decide it was more prudent to merely _mother_ me to death. "I vill go fetch my cloak. It vill be chilly above the water, yes?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Viktor! As the future Champion of Durmstrang – no, the Trivizard Champion! – it would not due for you to be ill upon you being chosen," already were thin fingers stroking an even thinner beard and the weak, pointed chin it failed to hide. Before the Bulgarian team scouted me, I had been an average, if studious, student who just so happened to be top pick as seeker for scrimmage matches. Now, I was treated as if the sun shone out of my posterior.

Only ten minutes later, and with the ship set to shore, we were hurried to assemble in proper formation while the ship was properly docked and anchored. One step behind and to the right of the Headmaster (and sweltering under Poliakoff's spare fur _and_ my own on said Headmaster's insistence), I followed onto the dark, glittering, and muddy grounds of Hogwarts. To the east was a large carriage led by a small team of abraxan, and north held the school itself, not to mention the assembled Hogwarts school with their professor's in the fore.

After a short conversation between the rival Headmasters (and some not-so-subtle show boating of myself before the Hogwarts students), we were led into the castle. To say it was grand would be an understatement. Warmth permeated the halls, delectable scents wafting from the Great Hall and the delicacies that produced them were aesthetically pleasing as well. Decorations were placed artfully around the walls, hanging from the ceilings, and looking very nice. What was first shown immediately impressed my fellow Durmstrang delegates, as our school was smaller, dimmer, and several times colder, yet the French students seemed bored as they were already seated at the table draped in blue and bronze. With the Hogwarts students seated, my six fellow Durmstrang students scattered themselves along the green table to fraternize, as Karkaroff had ordered.

As the last to sit, I chose to be near the apparent younger years who my school mates had dismissed out of hand. All seemed of middling school age, though it was easy to see the rift between the two main group, and I sat on it. To one side was a larger group of obvious pureblood elite or sycophants thereof, as I was sure I recognized a Malfoy among them. To the other was likely the caste more inclined to ignore blood, though still with proper dignity. While one side had either the trollish or the bred-to-perfection sort, this second group was more neutral. Two girls of rather normal looks (though in stark contrast to each other as one appeared a young Nordic ice princess and the other a darker girl) and two boys (a large brown hair boy and a slight redhead) didn't exactly stand out among the diversity of the Hall. While all of them were shocked by my arrival, the latter moved back to their previous conversation while the first seemed ready to hang off of my every word. Too bad I didn't intend to speak.

Twenty minutes in, I was bored and started scanning the Hall with my eyes, picking out anyone who seemed at all interesting. The next table over, the blue table, was crowded with only thirteen extra students from Beauxbatons, and while most were clustered together and reluctant to reach out, the predicted part-veela was speaking rapidly (in French most likely, as I noted a translation amulet sitting before her on the table) to a pretty girl with bushy brown hair. Wrenching my gaze away, I scanned the other tables, picking up the best candidates for Hogwarts champion – a blond boy at the yellow table who was speaking animatedly with his housemates and a girl at the red table with dark hair and a quiet but powerful presence. The Green table had their candidates, but none of them struck me as "the best of the best" as the idea had been described to me. I also noticed the Boy-Who-Lived as the red table's center of attention, far away as he was, by the way the entire school would flick their gazes to him.

At the green table, where I was seated, my six fellows were all surly (except for Yvonne, who was hitting it off with some upper year green girls), though forming connections and alliances with the surrounding purebloods irregardless. Those few students around me were either too polite or too intimidated to speak with me. Settling back to my food finally, a small movement to my left caught my attention, and I noted the scrawny red-haired boy yanking off a couple of black gloves, and I immediately caught on to why he wore them. A metallic hand was revealed, and a speck removed (I heard a mutter about pesky nargles, whatever those were) before returning to normal. Maybe even the seemingly normal Hogwarts students weren't so average after all.

Upon dismissal, I was up quickly, hoping to avoid any public fawning and followed by my fellows. Karkaroff, unfortunately, met us at the door and instigated the fawning all on his own.

"Viktor, I have spoken vith the Potions Master, and he has agreed to bring one of his brews to the ship this evening," The Headmaster said quickly, almost as if he thought to placate me. "Vould you like some vine? I'm sure it vould help."

"No thank you, Headmaster," I replied calmly. None of his filthy goblin-wine!

"I vould like some vine," Poliakoff muttered sullenly, just loud enough to be heard. Considering he really _did_ have a cold and not allergies, one would _think_ he would be the one to get mother henned. But then, someone would be underestimating the forces of pureblood supremacy and Igor Karkaroff's complete devotion to the principle.

"And vhy should you have any vine? I see you spilled food all down your front again, Poliakoff," Headmaster Karkaroff look down his misshapen nose, and I had had just about enough for one evening. Mathias was a decent enough man, and one of few in my year who didn't worship the ground I walked on (or, rather, flew over). He had done nothing to deserve such treatment.

However, I didn't get to talk in any such manner with my Headmaster, instead the Potter boy reached up and tapped his shoulder, calm as could be. "Excuse me, Headmaster Karkaroff, right? You're blocking the door."

As luck would have it, there were no more confrontations for the evening as a man with a wayward eye and peg leg seemed to spook the Headmaster to lead us out of the Hall and back to the ship. The next day, all of the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang dropped their names into the Goblet of Fire and _finally_ given the grand tour of castle by the school's Head teachers.

Finally, at the Halloween Feast (two grand feasts in as many days!), the Goblet spat out the first name. "The Durmstrang Champion is Viktor Krum!" Shouted the elderly Hogwarts Headmaster in a booming voice. With the applause of the entire Hall following me, I left for the back room, waiting to be debriefed about the Tournament.

* * *

.Fleur Delacour.

Outside of my window in the Chariot, I watched as dark clouds rose into the stars, or rather, as we sank. Two abraxan, great winged palomino horses, drove us onward and down to the Hogwarts grounds.

This was it! The Triwizard Tournament was approaching., and there was no doubt that I, as the top student of Beauxbatons, not to mention the best looking, would be the Champion. I would graduate Beauxbatons with a bang, take the Triwizard cup as my own, and have my name immortalized as one of the greatest witches in a century. So many greats had started in the Triwizard Tournament. Archamedes Prince won for Durmstrang in 1226, gaining fame and fortune for his line for centuries to come. In 1642, Ambroise Malfoy represented the Beauxbatons Institute, and won eternal bragging rights for the Malfoy line, although most of the family now lived in England. Even Albus Dumbledore won the Triwizard Tournament for Hogwarts in 1898, the start of a lucrative career as one of the greatest wizards ever known. Now it was my turn!

"Eez everyone ready to go?" Madame Maxime asked the thirteen assembled students. All standing in unison from our cushioned seats in the flight room, most of us drew on mufflers or silk scarves against the chill we knew to be lurking as the Chariot touched ground. The Scottish winds would be cold this late in the day and year.

"Yes Madame Maxime," we replied in chorus. With our half-giantess Headmistress in the fore, two lines of students followed her onto the grounds, one of six men and the other with seven women. It was all most of us could do not to cry out from the cold as it bit through our thin silks. That we should wear such warm-weather clothing in this weather was ridiculous! It was positively frigid, and we had no doubts that our choice in clothing made us look more like fools than the high society we were, shivering in the breeze as we were.

Rushing up to the castle, Madame Maxime "suggested" that we sit at the table draped in royal blue and glittering bronze cloth (for the House of the Raven's Claw, I believe she said). We did of course, and she left the Hall to await the Durmstrang Headmaster and students. Only a short wait later, and a group of young men (and one woman) entered, going to the table next to the near wall, the one covered in green and silver, but lining up in front of it until Hogwarts students had already sat, finally sitting down. As they sat, the Durmstrang students removed their fur cloaks and hats, and I picked out the best candidates immediately. One was a lithe young man with swift, powerful movements that didn't waste anything, and the famous Viktor Krum, who removed three coats (glaring at them it seemed) as he sat.

Madame Maxime entered the Hall with the other four judges of the Tournament, and I stood with the twelve other Beauxbatons delegates. Some Hogwarts students were stifling giggles while others laughed openly, but we didn't mind them. They were lacking in any formal decorum, not to mention that the castle, while large, was completely archaic, dingy, and smelled of animals and some sort of plant trying to cover it up.

The feast began, and I was pleased to find some French dishes among the fatty English foods and _interesting_ looking dishes from Eastern Europe. I was pleased to note a fine selection of wine, as the juice set about the table smelled of pumpkin. Disgusting.

"Excuse moi," I turned my head to the girl seated next to me, a bushy-haired brunette who could have been pretty if she tried. "Would you pass ze wine? Ze red, eef eet eez not too much trouble."

Hazel eyes blinked over at me a moment, as if surprised I would ask such a thing of her, before nodding and scanning the bottles of elf-wine for the best year and passing it over. She paused to bite her lip with slightly-too-large teeth before screwing up her courage to speak. By then, I had already poured my wine.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize all of the dishes," she murmured. With my translation amulet wrapped around my neck, it took me a moment to realize that she was speaking French. "The Bouillabaisse I know, of course, and the duck, but I'm afraid the rest is a mystery." A look of shame seemed to pass her face, as if admitting she didn't know something was a crime to her, and it may well have been. The House of Raven's Claw was famed for book smarts. "I spent a few summers in France after my lessons ended, but my knowledge of cuisine is a bit lacking."

"Of course. Zere are only a few more," I replied in English as I worked to remove the Translation amulet. With it on, I could only speak English, which was annoying if I wanted to have a private conversation in any other language. "'Owever, ze Bouillabaisse eez ze best..." Over the course of the meal, I made my first British friend in a very smart girl (the top in her year for her whole school, the only competition being the Boy-Who-Lived himself!) who was well versed in French and beginning a few other romance languages as well. I talked her into letting me give her a makeover at some point, much to her chagrin, and left happily, thinking less about the Tournament than I had in weeks.

The next morning, all the Beauxbatons students dropped their name into the Goblet of Fire, mere minutes after the Durmstrang delegates, and had a tour of the castle taking up the rest of the day. Considering we were to be taking our classes in the old building for the next year, it rather made sense to have a tour. However, the drafty old castle was in major need of a remodel. Moving stairs? I mean really!

As predicted, Viktor Krum was the first Champion chosen. I clapped politely, eyes glued to the Goblet of Fire as the dancing flames flashed from blue to a violent red before shooting the next piece of parchment from it's shimmering depths. Would it be Hogwarts or Beauxbatons? If my own house, would I be the one chosen? Suddenly, I wasn't so sure.

"The Beauxbatons Champion is Fleur Delacour!"

To the excited cheers (and some tears) of the other Beauxbatons students, not to mention the awe of many boys not used to veela, I walked up the aisle between Blue and Green (Raven's Claw and Slithering), nodded politely to the judges, and entered the dark door behind them,

* * *

.Cedric Diggory.

I shivered lightly, pulling my yellow-lined cloak a bit closer. This was it, it really was! The Champions would be chosen the next day, and even though I hoped the mystery-judge would choose me, I didn't want to think too hard on it. Whoever was the Hogwarts Champion would have my full backing, naturally, and that off all Hufflepuff House, no matter who received the honor.

A cry started among the students around me, who all began pointing up. Following their gazes and fingers, my seeker-trained eyes caught a large, dark blot stowed in the even darker clouds, perhaps a dragon (but they were illegal in almost every country but New Zealand and Honduras), or a fleet of brooms (far too chilly and for that, though), it was descending as rapidly as a muggle plain-arrow (or was that airplane?), it was soon proved that all bets were off. A large carriage that, with strong enough magic behind the charms, could expand as much as to become half the size of the Great Hall. Leading the large carriage was a pair of abraxan, the most common French variety of the flying horse, whinnying and throwing their heads as they settled.

The woman who first stepped from the carriage seemed to dwarf the team; a woman only slightly shorter than Hagrid, and far less hefty, she was a giantess among women in her dark blue silk robes. Behind the woman came two rows of doubtless-cold students – one row containing six boys, the other seven girls. Thirteen exact. Somehow, I expected Professor Trelawney to materialize and spout about it being some omen or another. All were wearing light blue robes that stood out in the magical lighting of the area picked for arrival.

In hardly two minutes, the woman (Madame Maxime, the Headmaster had called her) and her shivering students entered the castle, though Madame Maxime claimed she would return. Whether she did was up to speculation, for as soon as the last blue bit of cloth had slipped through the great doors of Hogwarts, a bubbling rose up from the Lake in front of us. A mast pushed itself above water level, pulling up the rest of a giant pirate ship with it; instead of bearing the Jolly Roger as a standard, a Hungarian Horntail, emblazoned with black flames, stood out on a blood red flag. Just that would have impressed the student body.

However, the Durmstrang Academy had one more trick up their sleeves. As they disembarked, a rather spindly looking man with a weak chin and expensive furs stepped from the ship, a much more impressive sight met everyone's eyes. Viktor Krum was walking just behind the apparent Headmaster.

"I didn't know Krum was still in school," a whisper from my left, my best friend and, hopefully, future girlfriend, Cho Chang, whispered in awe. "We have got to have him teach us some moves before he leaves."

I nodded, barely listening. Viktor Krum – _the_ "Wronski Krum", grandson of Josef Wronski – was at Hogwarts for a year. No doubt, he would be the Durmstrang Champion, and I suddenly wished very much to be the Champion to go head to head with him. The very idea of going against the legendary Krum was positively amazing.

Dinner itself was very little apart from chatting about the foreign students (now sitting at only the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables) and who the mystery judge was – until we were introduced to the Goblet of Fire. A wooden goblet with glowing carved into the sycamore with wolf-silver and bearing a temporary ever-burning flame... and was at once amazing and anticlimactic. I didn't even hesitate. As soon as everyone was dismissed, I wrote my name and "Hogwarts" on a scrap of paper, and dropped it into the flicking blue flames of the Goblet, finally leaving the Hall. I was first to enter.

On the night of Halloween, I was not surprised with the initial selection of a Champion. Viktor Krum, in his blood red uniform and awkward duck-footed walk, left the Hall to thunderous applause. Next up was Beauxbatons, and the name Fleur Delacour was called. In all honesty, I had never seen a more beautiful girl outside of a full-blooded veela, and she obviously had that going for her to some extent. The way every boy gazed at her to prove it. The Hall silenced as soon as the Goblet flared red once more, and I watched intently. This was the moment of truth. Who would the Goblet choose as Champion? A few Slytherins in the year above mine had entered, one or two Ravenclaws, just one other Hufflepuff, and every Gryffindor of age had tossed their names in as well. Ernie McMillan mentioned rumors of Harry Potter trying to sneak in his name as well, but that was just the Hogwarts rumor mill.

A small piece of parchment, slightly burnt at the edges, spiraled out of the Goblet, only to be snatched deftly from the air by the thin hands of the Hogwarts Headmaster. It seemed to take forever for him to unfurl the note and bring it to nose level to read. But, at last, his mouth opened, breaking the seven seconds of eternity.

"The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!"

I was so shocked to hear my name come from the mouth of the Headmaster himself that barely noticed being shoved out of my seat, and if asked, I couldn't remember the walk down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. It was only when the noise died and I found myself in an unfamiliar room that contained the two other Champions.

Still a bit shaky, I sat on a low stool by the veela girl who was chatting in French with a portrait of a knight. How could she not be nervous? People _died_ in this Tournament, no matter the security measures. Obviously, this was something Krum recognized as he paced the length of the small room with a sullen expression.

A few minutes later, the door opened once more.

* * *

.Igor Karkaroff.

Listening carefully, I could hear the echo of two booted feet stalking away at a swift pace. Likely Snape out for a patrol, I paid him no mind. No, my goal was at once something so much smaller and so very much larger than my fellow reformed Death Eater. In my Entrance Hall, dead center, was the Goblet, set upon a high stone pedestal and surrounded by a blue ring to signify the Age-Line Dumbledore had built. Snorting at the idea of limiting the competitors, I entered the ring without mishap. Quick wand work revealed that the Goblet had a fierce and dark version of the Confundus charm on it. Several more spells revealed what they were actually tied to – the name Harry Potter and a fourth school unnamed. Dumbledore was a liar and a sneak! The fact that he would enter his own pet pupil to dim Viktor's star, never mind illegally, was absurd in the most perverse sense.

So, I decided to alter his plans. Albus Dumbledore would not have two Champions, and his precious Boy-Who-Lived would not be in the Tournament. With the Confunding spell eliminated, I added my own as intended. The Goblet, after all, didn't care for publicity or the who's who of the Wizarding World, and I would _not_ let it pick a half-blood like Poliakoff to represent _my_ school.

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry this is late. I was in Idaho last week and my dad took the computer yesterday and a while today, so yeah. Sorry. Never mind that there was a rooster that pooped everywhere, Satan incarnated into a Turkey, and the evil peeing bunny. Seriously, my mom has a chicken living in the house, 15 outside, 7 chicks, 3 rabbits, 6 cats, and 1.5 dogs (.5 because they pet sit a dog most of the week). I also have 4 little brothers. On the bright side, I'm now only missing 3 pokemon on my pokedex for Emerald. WooT.

Oh, and I will be doing a double update next week or the week after to make up for last week. Go me.

Right, so just the champions and Karkaroff this time. No, Harry isn't a champion, yes Voldemort will come up with a new plan.

Okay, so, I'm psyched about beating 100,000 words. Really, truly psyched.

Josef Wronski, as detailed in Quidditch Through the Ages, was the inventor of the Wronski Feint and a top seeker. He was like... Swedish or something. I don't remember. Anyway, in my little wacko brain, Wronski had a daughter with a Bulgarian woman, that Bulgarian woman married a Mr. Krum, and they had dearest Vicky. Lovely, no?

Erm... aside from that? I drew Chaz a couple times on "vacation", I put the url of my deviantart on my homepage if you care. Have a good week!


	24. Fate is a Privilege

_Look for the Good Instead_

**Chapter 23**

**Fate is a Privilege**

**"Unhappy is the fate of one who tries to win his battles and succeed in his attacks without cultivating the spirit of enterprise, for the result is waste of time and general stagnation." Sun Tzu**

.Harry Potter.

On Halloween, 1994, there was no party thrown in the Gryffindor common room in honor of the fourth Triwizard Champion, nor, over the course of the weeks following, would there be cruel whispers thrown at that champion or buttons to disparage him. Said Champion was not fending off his fellow students in an attempt to explain that he _not_ entered himself, or even wearing a Gryffindor flag for a cape. Not only that, but his best friend was not acting overly jealous toward him. Why? Because only three names came out of the Goblet of Fire, and none of them were Harry Potter.

My name did not come out, Dumbledore's dismissal of the students assembled going uninterrupted, and I had no clue what I was going to do from that point on. There had been several reasons for me to enter the Tournament, none revolving around the promise of eternal glory. First and foremost in my mind was that, if the Cup wasn't rigged to take me to Voldemort, how was he to be resurrected? How would he abduct me to make the creepy potion that needed _my_ blood? For once, I really _didn't_ know what was coming. It was sobering thought.

There would be no visions to clue me in, because I was a Master Occlumens and it took more effort to take down my shields than to erect them now. No Order or Hermione to say even one little thing to help me along... and I no longer knew the future, even vaguely.

I was really and truly clueless this time.

That wasn't exactly the _only_ reason I wanted in, mind. The Tournament would have been a great excuse for knowing as many spells as I did, and, perhaps, I could have maneuvered everything so that Hermione and Neville would be my friends again if they "helped" me. Hermione would teach me a spell and Neville to suggest gillyweed this time instead of Dobby stealing it for me.

For half a moment, my brain stopped as I realized that, even if I were in the tournament and Neville didn't help me, there _was_ no Dobby at Hogwarts to help me because he still belonged to the Malfoys. The house elf that had died to save _my_ life was stuck in the Malfoy house. Yet another sobering thought to start off my day.

Calming myself, I picked up my bag from under the Gryffindor table, swung said bag over my shoulder, and signaled Charlus from where he was speaking with Hermione and Luna at the Ravenclaw table. I left the great hall on that seemingly normal Saturday with Sirius, in his dog form, following behind. We ventured outside to the back of the school where the gardens would hide us. Once more, my dogfather became my godfather.

The man in question was scratching behind his ear and looking mournfully over at the stables behind Hagrid's house that just barely allowed us to see two white abraxan. "You have no idea how tempted I am to just go over there and hang out in the paddock," he murmured with a yawn. "Fewer fleas." As testimony to his statement, he cast a de-fleaing charm at his head.

"You could convince everyone you're a magical dog and turn into a wolf in the middle of the great hall or something if some 'attacks' me," I posited sarcastically. "Or, you know, we could talk about how all bets are off on the whole resurrection thing. I mean, _really_, what's more important; your flea problem or _the fact that I don't know the future any more?_" I think my skills at sounding patronizing were coming along nicely, even if Sirius seemed completely oblivious to the obvious chaos to come.

In response, he simply cracked his back several times, loudly, and yawned once more. "So?"

It was all I could do not to explode and managed to settle for a horrified gape. "So? Sirius, we don't know what's going to happen anymore! He could kill Charlus and get rid of the blood protection, or Crouch could give me a detention and kidnap me from there so no one would know! With Crouch here and keeping Moody's eye out, not to mention that he has _two_ invisibility cloaks, he could find out that we're knocking out horcrux, or about the animagus training... Are you mad?!"

"That's up to speculation, and you are _so_ lucky I know the Muffling charm. You're very loud when you insane." A few more cracks as he moved his neck from said to side. I twitched slightly. If there was a sound worse than nails on a chalk board (or 50 musical saws) that was it.

I glared, but said nothing in response. How could he not see it? Voldemort had obviously changed his plans due to something we had done wrong, or maybe because Bellatrix had picked him up instead of Wormtail. What if it really was Mad-Eye who was at school? But he had hexed his trash cans anyway, so it likely was Crouch. So with a loyal Death Eater at the school to enact whatever plans were in place and Bellatrix Lestrange running about as Voldemort's errand girl, things were not looking good.

After a sullen silence spanning about three minutes, Charlus came around a rose bush near the middle of the garden courtyard and looking rather peeved. At least _he_ understood my plight. "Please tell me you have a good reason to interrupt my conversation this time? I was helping Hermione explain the uses of horklumps in potions brewing to Padma Patil and assuring Luna that Uncle Sev wasn't mad for thinking the pink ones aren't pretty. Now Hermione is alone with her and only understands every off sentence, and _I'm_ probably here just to listen to you moan and groan about how you aren't in the Tournament, right?"

Okay, so maybe he didn't understand.

"Why don't either of you get it?" I groaned, flopping my head forward into my hands. "I don't know what's going to happen!" Ready to burst into an explanation of just how wrong that really was, I didn't expect Charlus to snap at me.

"Good! For Merlin's sake, Harry, we aren't meant to know the future. That's why Seers are so rare and their visions sporadic – we aren't supposed to know our Fate! Didn't you ever read anything on the subject for your Divination class?" While Charlus sounded a cross between exasperated and furious, I couldn't help but scowl. "No one is supposed to know what happens in their future beyond a very vague idea, and even people with that are lucky. Only the Fates are meant to know."

"He's right, you know," the fact that Sirius agreed was a bit to much. A resounding "_traitor_" echoed in my mind as I glared at them both. "Any knowledge of a potential future that I had in the worlds was either obsolete in that world by a freak accident or wasn't something that could be changed. You're lucky to have even had the opportunity to use your experiences like this. The Fates was letting you have free reign for a full three years."

"Then why stop? Why now? This is the worst time for it!" It was. I was so sure it was!

"Harry," Sirius had a placating tone as he said this, "trust me on this one. It's very much _not_ the worst. The worst would have been last year, I think. If Bellatrix had attacked when you _weren't_ safe, when you didn't have me to protect you or the dementors to break her will, Voldemort –" I noted that Charlus still had a small twitch whenever he heard the name, even if he did normally say it (I think that may have been due to peer pressure), "- would have you as we speak. This could very well be the best time for it to happen – you could save Diggory from once certain death this time around. I've had plenty of time to study cause and effect, and the Tournament was a turning point. Yes, you learned a lot of useful spells by training for the tasks, but that fervor distracted you from most other classes.

"In another universe where you weren't entered in the tournament, last week's Charms course that introduced basic wards made you owl Bill Weasley, and he sent you some books as well as tutored you over the summer. With the warding you learned before going on the run from Voldemort, you were never found by Death Eaters, you broke into Gringotts a lot easier, and fewer people died, _including_ that batty house elf you like so much. The Tournament brings back Voldemort, but it's how you return that can change things, too. For example, my meeting Snape in the Hospital Wing is partially what spurred him to challenge me at every turn and led to my falling through the Veil. In turn, that made Dumbledore more rash so he didn't bring Snape with him to retrieve the ring, so he lost his arm and Snape made an Unbreakable Vow. Then Dumbledore died and everything went to hell in a hand-basket... right?

Gaping like a fish, I really couldn't think of a retort. Surely, he couldn't be right, could he? I was _supposed_ to change the world or something, wasn't I? So that I could finally go home to and my son (if time still passed back home, James would be three now...) just as Sirius' trials in 42 other worlds had brought him back to me, or so I had figured. Wasn't that how it worked? I use my knowledge of a potential future to change this, unless, perhaps (or most likely) it was all simply a very vivid dream.

"If that's all you needed to talk about, I'm going back in," Charlus drawled finally. "See you both for lessons tonight... oh, and Harry? I hope you're enjoying your second puberty. Hearing your voice crack is hilarious." And, with that, he walked off, plucking a lily as he went.

* * *

.Sirius "Snuffles" Black.

One week previously, Harry had _not_ been picked for the Triwizard Tournament as an extra Champion, and it became obvious how hormones affected his temper at this age; that is to say, exactly as they had in original time line. Moving quickly from aggravated and worried to snappish and irrational, I could only imagine how he would be for months to come. Didn't he understand how privileged he was to have any such chance? With a dogged and doggy sigh, I followed my charge to yet another class.

Beyond Harry's little hissy fit, little had actually happened. He was done with his research on his eagle form (a golden eagle, as he found out) and was already making rapid progress on his transformation. According to him, he'd had worse pain than his bones moving around as they did from Polyjuice potion and the cruciatus, and this seemed a far better cause to be in pain for than those. The fact that he had notes from a lot of different sources helped, and his more advanced skills in Transfiguration than anyone his age. Meanwhile, Remus had come to fully understand his father to reveal a sunbear of all things as the paternal form (as his father was just about the worst person to ever try Transfigurations, Remus had no idea what he might be).

Charlus, however, had no such luck. He refused to say what it was that he failed to understand about his father, claiming he would puzzle it out on his own. With Harry and Remus practicing transformations and studying and Charlus spending hours on a cushy corduroy couch while staring into space (I assumed he was thinking) or else looking at the anatomy notes for James' stag, it was all relatively boring. Perhaps spurred on by my diatribe about possibilities, Harry had owled Bill Weasley about warding, citing the Charms lesson as the spark of curiosity. He'd found out, while writing the older man, that Neville was also interested in warding, and had gone over a few books together. The fact that he'd taken me at face value about the whole warding thing was kind of cool, as it was a useful skill... and a total lie.

Aside from these little things, Harry continued to agonize over not knowing the future and the school celebrated the Champions at every turn. At the "family" meeting the night before (Dumbledore had been invited by James apparently), James and the other Sirius revealed some outside rumors that we wouldn't be getting at Hogwarts – a mysterious death in a town called Little Hangleton and that the body of Bertha Jorkins had been found in the middle of an Albanian forest. The other Sirius also mentioned that he had thus far failed in getting Regulus (I was surprised to find out he was still alive here) to reveal anything what-so-ever about the Locket horcrux, though it was obvious he knew something. Then Dumbledore had revealed he knew how to get the ring horcrux, though he had to wait until Voldemort was resurrected, just in case the Dark Lord in question checked up on things after said resurrection.

A hand fell on my head and scratched, allowing me to lean in easily. I may have been a human by birth, but being a dog meant that I could get head scratches without receiving weird looks. It was canine euphoria, as my wagging tail would attest.

Harry and I walked into the dim and dingy dungeons as a group of French students left, trailing behind their seventh year guides, and complaining of the enclosed space for their Potions lesson. On our way down we met up with Charlus and Neville, who had gone ahead of the other Gryffindors to catch his best Slytherin buddy after the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Arithmancy course. Oddly, Hermione accompanied the pair, though it was soon explained away as her having a free period and wanting some social time before she went to hide out in her cave (also known as the Hogwarts library). Even weirder, Harry seemed nervous that Hermione had accompanied them.

"Hey Potter!" This shout came from none other than one Draco Malfoy, Lord of the Ferrets (as Harry called him) and heir to the Malfoy legacy of evil and sliminess. "I see you hired some more plebeians for your entourage this year. At least before they were all purebloods. Kind of sad to see you put that know-it-all mudblood beaver on the payroll." This wasn't exactly the wisest move for my _dearest_ cousin/nephew (I didn't actually know what to call him, but one or the other would be right, right?) to make, considering not only were there eight Gryffindors around him, but a particularly large and intelligent guard dog. Never mind that there was at least one Slytherin and a Ravenclaw who would be in a tiff. Malfoy was going down.

Harry, in his stupidity, was the first to whip out his wand, Malfoy only a moment behind, each selecting a different spell to cast. While my much loved godson went with a standard "Stupefy!" (which just so happened to be a few years ahead of the Defense curriculum), the ferret picked a spell to make good on his insulted, shouting "Densaugeo!" into the hall.

The stunner's red beam of light struck Malfoy's pale blue, bouncing away from one another. With a sort of morbid fascination, I watched as the stunner changed its angle by roughly twenty five degrees and struck one of the lump-men who followed Malfoy around like lost puppies and knocking said lump-man into unconsciousness. It was the "beaver tooth hex" striking Hermione that actually got me mad though. I jumped at him, settling my paws on his shoulders and hips as he crashed into the ground. The ferret squeaked like the rodent he was in fear of the great big dog standing threateningly over him.

"Call off your mutt, Potter!" The obvious attempt at a haughty order was foiled by the higher pitch and tremor in his voice. "Call of your bloody mutt!" Were I terribly proud of my status as a purebred (er... I mean pure_blood_, my parents were first cousins after all), I might have been just a wee bit indignant, maybe even have bit him.

No, instead I took Harry's sarcastic advice from a week before (mad as it sounds) and transformed into my wolf form _just_ to prove how much of a mutt I really was. In a slight visual "whoosh" of changing flesh, smooth and shaggy black fur became a more bristly and slightly dingy red on top with a white fluff underneath, my snout elongated, head narrowed, and ears straightened from a flop to a more alert stance. With much more impressive teeth in his face, sharper claws near certain parts of his anatomy, and a bottle-brush tail whipping in a distinctly catlike manner, I was surprised the blond didn't wet himself. All I did, however, was blow hot air in his face, get off, and turn back into Padfoot as I trotted back to Harry. I noted the light smirk on his face and huffed. I had _not_ taken his advice, no matter what he thought!

"What is going on here?" The door to the Potions chamber opened with a creak to show Snape framed in its place, beady black eyes surveying the scene of the fight. Malfoy was quick to point fingers.

"Professor, Potter," he pointed at Harry to clarify just which Potter he was talking about. It seemed his truce with Charlus was likely to be up. Hermione's teeth already reached her chin, and Charlus attended her, "hexed Goyle with a stunner and then sent that monstrous mutt of his on me. He tried to curse Crabbe too, but Granger got in the way."

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Charlus grumbled, standing from where he was helping Hermione. He passed the distressed girl over to Neville and turned to Snape. "Professor, Malfoy is glossing over things a bit, I'm afraid. He insulted Hermione to egg on a fight, though I can't say I know why. I'm assuming he was counting on someone other than Harry to retaliate, but I'm not sure. Either way, Harry lost his temper at a certain insult and made the mistake of drawing his wand, an action which Malfoy repeated, and they each performed one spell. The spells bounced; Harry's struck Goyle and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Snuffles no doubt took Malfoy's actions as a threat to Harry and decided to neutralize him."

"And turning your mutt into a wolf so he could _eat me_ had nothing to do with it," the ferret faced blond snapped back, voice positively dripping with sarcasm. As if I would eat him! As a Malfoy, he undoubtedly would taste of the shit they were so full of. "That monster ought to be banned. It isn't even on the approved pet list!" Of course I wasn't on the pet list. Animagus godfathers weren't usually considered pets after all.

"Mr. Malfoy, now is not the time to debate the allowances the Headmaster makes for his precious Gryffindors," Snape drawled in his usual monotone. While this Snape wasn't _as_ greasy as I one I had tormented all through school and Order meetings (considering his hair wasn't as disgusting as the Snape from my home, I assumed he had washed his hair at least once in his life) and he didn't hate the Potters (well, maybe James), he was still the same of Snivellus Snape; a grumpy, overgrown bat who liked Slytherins, disliked Gryffindors, and had an odd liking for one muggleborn girl he had befriended pre-Hogwarts (three guesses who). "Longbottom, escort Ms. Granger to the Hospital Wing and come straight back – you should return just in time for the practical to begin. Potter, Malfoy, detention tomorrow night. Eight o' clock. Now get in this classroom you simplistic apes, or do I have to make a trail of bananas?"

While nothing more happened that day, gossip was flying through Hogwarts at a record pace. Some were about Harry using a spell not normally taught until fifth or sixth year in a schoolboy tiff to knock an innocent bystander unconscious. Others noticed that Hermione Granger now had perfectly normal teeth, as her French friend had happily gushed about at dinner. Still more wondered if Harry _did_ have his friends on a payroll, and if they could join up. Other than that, it was simply the usual moaning and groaning about only the Potters getting to bring their dog to school and how they all wanted to bring their big furry friends from home as well.

Naturally, by the next morning the "big black dog turning into a big red wolf" fiasco had transcended from mere school-wide gossip to make the Daily Prophet, courtesy of Rita Skeeter. In that particular article, I was annoyed to note, she speculated as to what sort of black magic would have to be employed on an animal to cause that, and if it qualified as animal cruelty.

No one even batted an eye at the Quibbler article that claimed me to be a trans-dimensional shape-shifter that could also turn into some sort of bird of prey and a flying horse.

* * *

.Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

All through the school year, and all years past of course, I had been keeping my eye on the Boy-Who-Lived who was not native to this particular universe. Millions of conundrums were running through my mind day in and day out, or so it seemed at the time.

How had he come to this time-line? Where had _our_ Harry, savior of the wizarding world, gotten off to? Was he in this Harry's body? Was there some great interchange of Harry Potter minds and souls? What did this mean for the prophecy? What about the horcrux embedded in the scar – had it left with the real Harry or stayed behind? If the former, where did it go? Would t resurface as another Voldemort someday? If the Harry who had been marked an equal by this Voldemort through his grandmother's sacrifice (a sketchy explanation at best, I admit) wasn't the one here, would the prophecy still apply? Or was he perhaps the "other" mentioned in that same prophecy?

It was confounding at best. No new prophecies had been made concerning the current Dark Lord (or any to come in the next century) had been made since Sybil Trelawney's prophecy in April of 1980, let alone since October of 1991. Without prophecy to dictate the war, as they had for every other wizarding war since long before the time of Merlin and the Founders, who knew how the world would deal with all of this? The Fates were leading the blind wizarding world, and quite possibly over a cliff and onto very pointy rocks. It was not a good sign.

In my observations of the Boy-Who-Lived (or so he claimed), I had noticed several things. The first was that he had a very difficult time saying "no" to any of his friends, or anyone he cared for in general, about anything. The boy (man) was a human doormat, as much of one as many seemed to think the friendly house of badgers to be. Second was that he was completely oblivious as to the position of respect he held among his peers, not even realizing the high-esteem given those he would talk to on any sort of basis, reliable or no. What was more, he had had a strange reaction to the choosing of Champions, keeping his eyes glued to the flickering flames of the Goblet of Fire even when they went out and the Goblet was put away. It was almost as if he had expected a fourth name to come out.

That was absurd of course, or so I had thought. James Potter had invited me to a "family meeting" two Sundays after the Champions were chosen. It was an invitation I thought only to be cursory so that he could steal away his boys and their "animagus friend" from the castle for the evening and perhaps as a thank you for allowing you Remus Lupin to visit every evening for animagus training. However, upon my arrival I could tell that the group was all business and that there was an obvious point to my being there as well.

To start, James had presented a Daily Prophet article (a special edition that was not part of a general subscription, thus never making its way to Hogwarts) detailing that the body of Bertha Jorkins had been found in the forests of Albania. Sirius pointed out certain facts in the article that were not meant to be stated in polite company. Next, Lupin informed everyone that the Dark Creature education given to Aurors in the academy was being dumbed down, as per the orders of Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Harry had a go then (after grumbling about evil toads and pink cardigans) and claimed that, because he had not been chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, he no longer knew what was to come and he was very sorry if the world exploded, but that was life. Finally, Sirius had mentioned that his brother, Regulus, refused to say anything about Slytherin's locket (Harry and the other Sirius were surprised that Regulus was alive, oddly).

Having done research the weekend past, and some final reorganization, I knew precisely what to say on my part. "I have found a way around the protections surrounding the Resurrection Stone," I admitted with ease. "A few wards that I am familiar with are in place, and a rather foul enchantment that may be bypassed either through a parseltongue password or through the spilling of the Dark Lord's blood on the front door - both of which we have readily available – are all that are protecting this particular piece of Voldemort's soul. While I am certain that Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange are making their home at the Crouch estate rather than Riddle Manor, I believe it is not safe to remove the horcrux until after the resurrection has taken place, in the likely instance that he would notice something off while in Little Hangleton at year's end. If I am incapacitated when it is time to retrieve the ring and you are uncertain as to what the password itself may be, I have hidden a phial of Voldemort's blood in the Sorting Hat."

A moment's silence before excited chattering broke out. This horcrux hunting of ours would go along just fine; all we had to worry about was the cup, the snake, and perhaps the scar, but no more.

* * *

Author's Note: Wow... um... I intended to get a Charlus section in there, actually, but as you can see, I didn't. That's because he really got out all he had to say in this chapter in Harry's section. He doesn't like that Harry takes his future knowledge as a given, because the ability to fight Fate was a privilege, not a right (thus the title). I also intended to make the Dumbledore section longer, but as you can tell that didn't happen either. What would have been added for Dumbledore was the night before the first task and him going to visit an animagus session to find that Harry was going through it very quickly and Remus was almost done with his sunbear thing (keep in mind, he had a much more complex transformation with the rabbit and a more painful one with the werewolf... and regarding the pain thing, it stops hurting after the body becomes accustomed to the change).

Um... wow. I'm brain dead right now... seriously, can't think at all. Ow. Erm... yeah... –cough-- I've been sick, which sucks, and since I'm home sick and I dunno how long I can stand being out of bed, I posting a smidge early. Next chapter comes next Wednesday, chapter 25 should come within says of then, and then everything should be back on track. Hopefully...

If there's anything needing explaining that I'm to blargy right now to think of, please inform me in some way, shape, or form. I'm going to go sleep.

Have a good week :P


	25. Author's note

Author's Note: Right... so, this story is crap. I overpowered Chaz, didn't give him a proper balance of qualities, and totally gary-stued the poor sod. I may try to rewrite this at a later date, because I really did have some good ideas for this story, but honestly I just can't write anything for it. I've been trying for MONTHS and I jus can't write anything. At all.

Yeah... that's really all I wanted to say. Sorry to those who liked it, but I can't help it if I really can't write. It's not writer's block either, so don't say it is; I know quite well that this really and truly was crap and is dead.


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